


begin the end

by dustofwarfare



Series: begin the end [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:31:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 93,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1668146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years after the Deepground crisis, Sephiroth returns -- with no memory of anything that happened at Nibelheim, or afterwards. Cloud Strife, convinced it’s a trap, advocates for his old enemy's immediate execution -- but Rufus Shinra, determined to reform the image of the new Shinra Electric Company and earn the goodwill of a population tired of violence, has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Spite and Malice

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Положить конец](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13169337) by [MyrK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrK/pseuds/MyrK)



> Thanks times a million to Draskol for the beta'ing, cheerleading, and willingness to answer my timeline questions and ponder things like, "If you were an amnesiac Sephiroth, where would YOU head first?" 
> 
> Title is a Placebo song, as are all the chapter headings. Yes, sigh, this is a multi-chaptered thing -- apparently I just crave backstory and some plausible (HAHAHAAHAHA...sigh) way for my OTP to end up together. 
> 
> Note on pairings: Sephiroth/Angeal/Genesis is background, and the Cloud/Zack is unrequited (also background).

_Prologue_

Dorian hated working the night shift in Old Midgar. It was creepy as fuck, for one, and nothing interesting ever happened, for another. Not that he wanted it to. He might be a ShinRa guard with a fancy stun weapon (no more guns that killed folks, Shinra was _a different kind of company_ now, or so all the training videos said), but the only time he’d had to use it was against a stray cat. 

He felt bad about that, actually. Bad enough that the cat was now living the good life, purring away at home in front of the fire with the missus. Dorian had named the cat Stunner, thinking it was funny, but his wife called the thing _puffball_ or something. Whatever. 

He was making his rounds, a seemingly endless and boring loop around the old Shinra Tower and what was left of the block, trying not to yawn. Sometimes he wondered what it would have been like, to have this job in the old days. Back then the guns were real, and everybody knew you didn’t fuck with ShinRa or anyone who worked for them. Dorian straightened up, aiming the gun into the dimly-lit shadows and pretending he was a badass SOLDIER with glowing eyes. 

“Hands up, scum,” he said, just to hear himself say it. The echo of his voice made him blush a little, and he lowered the gun. He’d felt guilty over stunning a cat, did he really think he could just walk around shooting people dead? 

Sighing, Dorian turned to make his loop again, deciding he’d do it a few more times before settling down to eat the dinner his wife had packed for him. Maybe he could even read a few chapters of his book. There weren’t very many lights anymore in Old Midgar, but a few spotlights still swept the perimeter at odd intervals. Sometimes you could find a spot where they crossed just right, every few seconds. Normal people might find it hard to read in that light, but Dorian was a slow reader, so that worked out just fine. 

He was heading back towards the Tower when he saw something moving in the shadows. His eyes widened as a figure strode through the darkness, the occasional spill of light reflecting off a long fall of silver hair. 

“Hey,” Dorian called, clearing his throat. He tried to sound authoritative. “Hey, now, you know you shouldn’t be here, so...just get.” It was pretty much the same thing he’d said to the cat. 

The figure stopped, and Dorian fumbled for his gun. The first switch powered on a flare light, which sent an immediate message back to HQ that something had been spotted. They should radio him for a report soon, but since the last time he’d done this it’d been because of a cat, Dorian wasn’t sure how soon they’d get around to it, once they realized _he_ was the guard on duty. 

He flashed the light towards the figure, but it was gone. 

Blinking, Dorian wondered if he was seeing things. He lowered his weapon. What was he going to say when they asked him why he’d activated the flare light? Turning, he found himself staring straight up into a pair of glowing, slitted green eyes. A man regarded him with a pitiless expression, and -- w-was that a _sword_ on the man’s back? 

Dorian barely had time to press the alarm button on his gun before a gloved hand shot out, and leather-clad fingers wrapped tight around his throat.

 

Chapter One: Spite and Malice 

The new headquarters of the ShinRa Electric Power Company looked nothing like the old one. It was sleek and modern, one huge sprawling complex made of steel beams and sparkling glass. There were no secret underground laboratories, no inaccessible floors, no penthouse apartment from which the exalted ruler could sit and view his domain, out of the reach of mere mortals. 

It was said that Rufus Shinra’s office was right in the sprawling heart of the building, glass-enclosed like everyone else’s. The bright spring sun reflecting off of the glass, Cloud Strife thought _it would be a tactical error to put him in the corner with nothing but glass separating him from the masses._

Maybe that was unfair of him. Cloud and Rufus had, for the most part, set aside their differences in the wake of the Deepground crisis, which had made ruins of what remained of the old ShinRa Tower. The ruins that were still visible, even now, some six years later; a broken skeleton of bones shadowed against a bright sky. 

Cloud wondered if Rufus intended the new ShinrR to be built in the shadows of his father’s empire. If he intended it as some sort of warning to himself, a reminder of what could happen if he tried to reach too high. Then again, Rufus might just like looking at it so he could gloat. It was hard to tell with him. 

Cloud went inside, shoving his goggles up. The place was busy, bustling almost, and say what you would about the corporation -- it was providing both stability and jobs to the population, which had been a godsend after the Tsviets nearly destroyed the fledgling city. 

Midgar was gradually being restored, very slowly, as if the people were hesitant to put their trust in such things as _personal safety_. Cloud couldn’t blame them. He’d found it hard to put his trust in anything, for a very long time. Six years of relative peace and prosperity hadn’t exactly changed that. 

He walked through the bustling center of the ShinRa Building, towards the center where a large information desk stood, a semicircle of gleaming wood staffed by more than half a dozen smiling employees. 

Rufus wasn’t stupid. The place might look like you had free rein to wander around, but you still had to be escorted if you wanted to visit any of the senior executives. 

“Hi, can I help you?” 

Cloud blinked at the voice, and found himself looking at a young woman with blue hair and several piercings on her face. She was wearing a collar with spikes and something that looked like a mesh shirt with a skull on it, but her smile was warm and friendly. _Oh yeah_ , Cloud thought. _ShinRa's other initiative._ The company wanted to encourage individuality among its staff, a mission it touted constantly on television: ShinRa Electric -- It's Your Company, or something like that .... 

“I’m here to see Rufus,” Cloud said. He took a perverse glee in not calling the man _President Shinra_ , petty though it may be. 

The girl smiled and picked up the phone by her station. “Hi, a Mr. Strife to see President Shinra.” The girl met Cloud’s eyes and immediately blushed, realizing that he hadn’t even said his name before she made her call. Which meant she recognized him. 

Cloud didn’t mind being recognized as much as he minded people trying to make excuses for recognizing him in the first place. She stammered an embarrassed apology but Cloud just nodded and said, “It’s all right,” because he’d long since learned that when he tried to make people feel better, the opposite usually happened. 

Tifa said if he wanted to be less recognizable, he could cut his hair -- but Cloud had tried that, once, a long time ago when he was a teenager in Nibelheim. Sure, he hadn’t had a professional do it, but it still left him with unruly tufts sticking up like baby chocobo feathers. That would look even more ridiculous on a twenty-eight year old man than a twelve year old kid, so he left it alone. 

A few seconds later, a familiar blonde-haired female in a dark suit appeared next to him. There were a few things about Shinra that hadn’t changed, the Turks in their somber attire and Rufus in his trademark black-and-white being two of them. Turks used to blend in, when ShinRa was crawling with executives in suits and ties. Now, against a tapestry of color and quirky individualism, they stood out in stark relief. It was probably intentional. 

“Strife,” said Elena, nodding at him. Her hair was fashionably short, framing her small, delicate features. Appearances were definitely deceiving, though; the woman was as tenacious as a bulldog and as deadly as a rattlesnake. Cloud knew her a little better than most of her fellow Turks, since she was dating Tifa. Cloud didn’t necessarily like what she did for a living, but as long as Tifa was happy, Cloud kept his peace on the matter. 

He liked her well enough, as much as he liked anyone and especially as much as he liked any of her associates. That was probably why Rufus sent her to escort him in the first place.

“Elena.” He gave her a slight nod and followed her around the side of the desk, watching her flash an ID card at a small, discreet scanner set waist-high against the paneling. There were no immediate doors in the vicinity, and he wondered what exactly in unlocked. He didn’t ask. 

Rufus’s office was in the center of the complex, which was still a ways past the entrance. The amount of people milling around diminished significantly, making Cloud think most of the openness was simply for show. It made him relax somewhat as they walked. He couldn’t find any fault with Rufus’s desire to escape the crowds, not when he himself shared it. 

“Rufus will be here in a few minutes,” Elena said, gesturing him into the office. “Need anything?” 

Cloud shook his head and gave her a small smile. “I know better than to ask you for coffee, Elena.” 

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “If it were anyone else but you, I’d kick them in kneecaps. Not because I like you enough to go get it, because I’d still send someone else. You’re too tactless to mean them as insults.” 

Cloud blinked at her, then found himself smiling a little easier. “It does take people a while to get that about me,” he said, and she gave a short laugh and nodded at him before heading out and closing the door behind her. 

Cloud wondered if it was locked, but he doubted it. He also doubted the material surrounding Rufus’s centrally-located office was really glass, and he rapped his knuckles lightly on the surface to see. It was probably bulletproof. Then again, Rufus was really fond of his shotgun, so maybe it wasn’t, since he might have to shoot his way out of here. ShinRa’s new, off-site science department was big on sustainable living and reusable materials, and Cloud noticed that whatever the hell it was, it was possible to hang pictures from it. 

 

Rufus’s selection of images were interesting. One, Cloud noticed with a slight twist to his mouth, had him on it; it was a medal ceremony conducted shortly after Advent Day, with him shaking the President’s hand. The others were far more interesting, including one that had to be Rufus as a child with a woman who was undoubtedly his mother. Rufus looked more like her than he did his father, though Cloud’s memory of Shinra, Sr. was hazy indeed. There were no photographs of _him_ anywhere, but Cloud didn’t think there would be. 

The others were scenic shots, including one of the Meteor statue and another of the blueprints for the current building. Cloud shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn’t like being in this glass-or-whatever-it-was enclosed space. It made him feel like he was on display. 

He wandered over to Rufus’s desk, noting there were other pictures there as well. One was of Rufus with the Turks at some Wutainese restaurant; everyone, even Tseng, was smiling at the camera. The other framed photograph, to Cloud’s surprise, was of Reno sprawled in a lounge chair at Costa Del Sol, dressed in his Turk suit and holding a tropical drink in one hand. He was making a finger gun at the camera with the other hand, giving it an exaggerated wink and a grin. 

Cloud reached out and took the picture in his hand, bringing it closer. Reno looked -- maybe not _young_ , exactly, but innocent in a way that made Cloud think it was before Meteorfall. There was something missing from his expression, no hardening of the features that inevitably came along with watching the world almost end. 

Rufus’s relationship with the Turk wasn’t exactly a secret, but they certainly didn’t act as if it were “official”, so it was strange to see the picture on Rufus’s desk. Then again, facing global extinction twice in a decade might make someone a bit less reticent to admit affection for other people. Cloud wasn’t sure, as it would take more than armageddon to make him comfortable with such things. 

“I think he was on the clock when that was taken,” a smooth voice said. “I keep it to remind myself not to send him to nice places on assignment, or I’ll lose money.” Cloud flushed in embarrassment. He put the framed photograph back quickly, stepping back from Rufus’s desk and turning towards the other man. 

Rufus was his usual elegant self, not a blond hair out of place, his suit immaculate and made of crisp, clean lines. He wore the sharper features that came with both age and experience very well, maintaining enough of that almost pretty, angelic countenance to make him a very attractive man.

The fact he was attracted to Rufus Shinra always dismayed Cloud, mainly because he didn’t understand why he always wanted people he shouldn’t. It made him feel both awkward and combative. 

“You have a delivery?” he said gruffly, looking away. He wondered if Rufus understood more than Cloud wanted him to about why he was always ready to break things when they were in a room together. 

“No.” Rufus shook his head, and Cloud noticed he was still standing by the doorway to his office. 

“You said you had a job for me, though. Or that’s what Reno said, when he called.” Cloud tried to relax his posture, tired of how saving the world was more familiar to him than conducting conversations with attractive men. “Need me to battle monsters or ghosts or something again?” 

Rufus cleared his throat. “Actually…” 

Cloud stared at him, lingering feelings of attraction vanishing instantly in a reminder that this man’s company, whether at his behest or not, had been indirectly responsible in some manner for the world nearly ending. Twice. “You’re kidding me.” 

“It’s not quite so dire as whatever you’re thinking,” Rufus assured him, in that smooth voice of his that told Cloud it was exactly _that_ dire. “But I feel I need to warn you ahead of time that you might be...displeased.” 

In Rufus’s politician-speak, _displeased_ probably meant Cloud was going to have a rage blackout. He could feel the weight of his sword at his back, because not even the President of ShinRa Electric would ask Cloud Strife to disarm before entering a room. Most people figured they were better safe than sorry. 

“Rufus, what did you do?” Cloud asked. 

“Nothing,” Rufus said, his eyes too wide to be believable. 

“You stopped being able to pull off that look after you jumped off a building with a shotgun,” Cloud told him. That irritating flare of attraction was back again, but Cloud couldn’t help it. That had seemed like something Zack would do, although the arrogance implied in the gesture - of the _someone will make sure to catch me_ kind -- that was all Rufus Shinra. 

Rufus gave Cloud a small, pleased smile. “Did I?” 

Cloud glared. “What is it? The longer you keep stalling, the more irritated I’m getting.” 

“That would sound like a threat, Cloud, if you were the type to take your anger out on innocent bystanders.” 

Cloud bared his teeth. “Good thing there aren’t any around, then.” 

“Yes,” Rufus said, smiling wider. “Good thing there aren’t. Come along, Cloud. It’d be easier to show you than to explain.” 

“I’m going to be really mad about this, aren’t I,” Cloud said, as he gave up and followed Rufus towards the door. 

“Probably.” Rufus waited politely for him to leave first, but Cloud didn’t want the other man at his back so he hesitated before going through the door. Rufus rolled his eyes. “Your paranoia isn’t necessary, Strife. I brought you here because I need your help, not because I want to trap you or shoot you in the back.” 

Annoyed, Cloud glared at him again. “First, I’m not _afraid_ of you, Shinra, I’m just being cautious because I don’t trust you. Second, the last time you asked me for help --” Cloud stopped, a horrible idea taking root in his brain. “Just tell me it has nothing to do with… _him_.” 

There was no need to say who _he_ was.

_I will never be a memory._

Rufus’s hand settled on Cloud’s shoulder, bringing Cloud’s scattered attention back to the present. “You might possibly be frightening my staff,” he said. “It would help if you would keep yourself together until we’ve got a bit more privacy.” 

Cloud exhaled, slowly. He nodded to Rufus and followed the man out of his office, down a hallway and towards a nondescript door next to a bathroom. 

Rufus opened it with his keycard, and motioned Cloud through. 

“Where are we going?” Cloud asked. “I swear to Shiva, Rufus, if you have some kind of lab down here….” 

He trailed off as they approached a massive underground tunnel. “Rufus.” 

“It’s not what you think,” Rufus said. His white suit and fair hair made him appear momentarily backlit against the dank, grey stone. “This is a transport system, nothing more. When we were building the headquarters, we needed a way to bring materials to and from the work site without clogging up traffic. It was three years ago, remember, and the highway infrastructure wasn’t as good as it is now.” 

“The highway infrastructure still sucks,” said Cloud.

“Yes, so recall how it was three years ago.” He gestured at a large garage door. “That leads to a ramp thatcomes out on Gainsborough Drive. If you don’t believe me, I’ll have it opened and you can see for yourself.” 

Cloud had forgotten they’d named a street after Aerith. He wondered if she would like that or not, being immortalized in traffic reports. Her church was restored and was one of the few places in Midgar where people felt safe going. It was something of a shrine, and Cloud hoped it would stay that way, if only to keep it from being vandalized or destroyed. People had notoriously short memories. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Just tell me where we’re going already.” 

“Do you remember where we got most of the supplies to build the new ShinRa building from?” 

“I know what you said on television,” Cloud replied. “I don’t know if it’s the truth or not.” 

Rufus’s smile was flint-edged sharp. “You give me more credit than I deserve, when it comes to being devious.” 

“Hmm,” Cloud said. “You told everyone you got the building materials from Midgar.” ShinRa was serious about protecting the planet they had almost, however indirectly, destroyed; there were initiatives to recycle, reuse, and convert all the scrap metal and rubble for use in Edge. 

“We did.” Rufus arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know why you’re determined to make me my father, Strife, but it’s tiring.” 

“Don’t play that card with me, Shinra,” Cloud said. “You know I have reasons to think you’re full of shit.”

“Oh, I didn’t say that I wasn’t,” Rufus agreed, flashing his shark’s smile again. “But I’m not trying to rule the world like my father. I can promise you that.” 

“That doesn’t exactly make me sleep better at night,” Cloud said. “That why you make sure you can see what’s left of the Tower from your office?” 

Rufus came to a stop. “I suppose I do that for the same reason I keep photographs of people I care about on my desk.” 

“Which is?” 

Rufus pulled a phone from his pocket. “Temperance, Cloud. Balance. I look at the old tower and remember that it’s possible for anything you build to fall apart, and I look at my desk to remember the reasons why I don’t want it to. All my father saw from his office was the sky, and there was never anything that kept him from reaching higher and higher until he finally fell.” 

Cloud blinked. He wasn’t used to that kind of honesty from Rufus, and he felt momentarily as if he’d misjudged the man. “You understand why I don’t believe you, don’t you?” 

“Of course.” Rufus shot him a look. “It doesn’t make your lack of trust any less irritating, but I understand.” 

Cloud actually smiled. “That’s something, I guess.” 

Rufus smiled back, then raised his phone to his ear. “We’re ready.” 

Cloud shifted on his feet, trying not to show his nerves or his unease at heading into a tunnel. 

A few minutes later, the quiet was disrupted by the sound of a motor as headlights cut through the darkness. The vehicle was a standard-issue military jeep, with a familiar figure in a perpetually rumpled suit at the wheel. Reno’s hair looked even brighter in the gloom and darkness of the tunnel. His expression, however, seemed a perfect match. 

“Yo, Strife.” Reno leaned over and opened the door, and Rufus climbed into the jeep. The fact that Reno didn’t make a single other comment was worrisome. Apparently, whatever was waiting for them at the end of this little ride wasn’t going to be pleasant. 

He ignored Rufus’s proffered hand and vaulted into the back of the jeep. No one spoke as the vehicle puttered away down the tunnel, the headlights illuminating nothing but endless black. 

* * *

The jeep came to a halt a few moments later. Cloud opened his eyes, a pang of adrenaline and dread hitting him when he realized where they were. It seemed like no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite seem to avoid the place. 

The underground portion of the old Shinra Tower wasn’t in much better shape than the ruins above ground; the weight of the structure had collapsed during the exodus of the Deepground soldiers. The ground was littered with glass, piles of rubble and overturned furniture casting ominous shadows in the gloom. The former laboratory was full of enclaves that were clearly cells at one point, most of which had the doors torn off, or missing entirely. 

Cloud's fingers twitched as he followed Rufus and Reno, navigating the haphazard piles of debris as they made their way deeper into the former lab. There was one section where the rubble had been cleared away, the floor swept clean of glass and the cell had not only a steel door, but a keypad that resembled the one from the new ShinRa building.

Cloud kept his hand on the hilt of of his weapon. Reno had casually dropped back, giving him a clear shot of Cloud's head, which meant that whatever was behind the door was probably gonna make Cloud want to put his sword through Rufus's neck.

“Cloud,” Rufus said, pausing as he went to enter a combination on the keypad, “I need you to understand -” 

“Just open the door, Rufus,” Cloud said. He hated this place, hated the murmur of things that weren’t human, hated that he could hear them. 

Rufus exchanged a look with Reno, and then finished opening the door. 

All it took was one glimpse of silver hair before Cloud was drawing his sword, turning on Rufus 

“Rufus, you _idiot_ ,” Cloud snarled, ignoring the man as he drew his sword and went immediately towards the glass that separated him from his arch-rival. 

“Stand down, Strife,” Reno drawled, his electro-mag in one hand and a pistol in another, both aimed right at Cloud. Rufus had a shotgun out, and Cloud was too furious to wonder where the fuck the man kept that weapon. Both men had their weapons pointed at Cloud’s head. Turks shot to kill. 

“Look at him, Cloud,” Rufus said, jutting his chin towards the window. “He’s not armed.” 

Cloud stared at the man behind the glass, waiting for that smirk, that _fucking smirk_ and that goddamn voice that haunted his nightmares -- 

Sephiroth was staring at him, but his usual smug arrogance was replaced by...confusion? 

“You have ten seconds, Rufus,” Cloud said, weapon still raised. “Ten seconds to tell me what the fuck is going on before I go in there and send that bastard back to the Lifestream.” 

Rufus was not a man who was known to squander opportunities, nor was he one to underestimate Cloud as an opponent; a fact that, in other circumstances, Cloud might actually appreciate. “A few nights ago, we received an alert from a guard on patrol in Old Midgar. He sounded quite flustered and claimed he’d come across a man claiming to be SOLDIER First Class Sephiroth. We were, of course, skeptical at first -- especially given the man’s record, he’d once sounded the alarm over a stray cat -- .” 

Cloud raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Five more seconds. Make them count.” 

Rufus sighed. “When we went to retrieve him, we found…” He paused, looking through the glass and sounding vaguely amused. “You know the first thing he asked us for was a situation report?” 

“Rufus.” 

“He doesn’t remember anything, Cloud. He has no idea what _year_ it is. The last thing he remembers before waking up in Midgar is being sent to Nibelheim with SOLDIER First Class Zack Fair.” 

Cloud laughed, the sound a bitter, jagged echo. 

Rufus continued, eyes sharp on Cloud’s face. “When certain facts of the situation were explained to him, he voluntarily surrendered both his weapon and himself for incarceration.” 

Cloud gave that same painful laugh and turned back to the partition. He moved closer, sword still drawn. Sephiroth stared back at him, that trace of confusion having been replaced with a cool, watchful stare. 

_His eyes are normal,_ Cloud noted. The observation wasn’tt enough to make him lower his weapon. “And that made you believe that he was telling the truth?” 

“Of course not,” Rufus huffed. “But it was enough for me to authorize his captivity while I figured this out.” 

“And how are you planning to do that, exactly?” Cloud demanded. “What kind of evidence is enough to overcome your common fucking sense, Rufus?” 

 

“For one, how he reacted to seeing you,” Rufus said, as if he were discussing a business merger. 

Before Cloud could tell Rufus how monumentally stupid he was, Sephiroth spoke, his voice filling up that small space with its usual resonance. That voice, the one Cloud heard sometimes in that place suspended between sleep and wakefulness, the dim place of dreams where things were kept hidden from the light. 

That voice, which was not addressed to him, but to Rufus. Even Sephiroth’s arsenic eyes were turned towards the young ShinRa president. “I’m guessing whoever this is, he’s not a member of my fan club?” 

 

“You don’t recognize this man?” Rufus asked.

Sephiroth turned back towards Cloud. Cloud froze. 

_Good to see you, Cloud._

A faint frown of concentration marred Sephiroth’s brow as they studied each other. He cocked his head, some of his hair falling into his eyes, and reached up with one hand to brush it out of his field of vision. 

In all the times they’d faced each other, in all the battles they’d fought, Cloud had never, _ever_ seen Sephiroth push his hair out of his face. His hair never seemed to _get_ in his face in the first place, as if it were too well-trained to do such a thing.

His eyes lingered on Cloud’s sword, and Cloud saw a flash of interest flit across his face. Interest, but no real recognition for either the sword or the man who wielded it. 

Sephiroth looked next atCloud’s hair. When he spoke, he did so slowly and with a hesitance Cloud had never, _ever_ heard come out of his mouth, “You were a guardsman. A friend of Zack Fair’s, I seem to recall.” 

Cloud remembered kneeling in the rain with Zack’s blood in his hair, his fingers going slack as he pressed the hilt of his sword into Cloud’s trembling hands. 

“Zack is dead,” Cloud said, very clearly and without much inflection,before trying to put the whole of his sword through the partition, right into Sephiroth’s heart. 

ShinRa engineering prevailed, however; the partition cracked as Cloud’s sword screeched across the glass, but the bane of his existence remained unscathed.

“Open it,” Cloud said. The words felt heavy in his mouth, he could barely think to get them out in the first place. “I’m going to kill him.” 

“No,” Rufus said, very softly. “At least, not until I’ve decided what the best course of action is. Do you think he’s lying?” 

“It’s _Sephiroth_.” 

“Yes, I know that, Cloud. But as far as I’ve been able to tell from my research, Sephiroth wasn’t one for lying --” 

“In your _research_?” Cloud said, rounding on him. He shot Reno a warning glare. “Don’t shoot me until I have a chance to yell at him.” 

“Okay,” Reno said, agreeably enough, the weapon still trained on Cloud’s head in a display of exemplary professionalism. “Throw in a _you’re being a moron_ for me, too, yeah?” 

“Your opinion has been noted, Reno,” Rufus said, a touch of warning in his voice. His eyes didn’t waver from Cloud’s face. “Many times. And yes, Strife, my research. I’ve spent the last few days going over some records, trying to understand what we’re dealing with. A gardener doesn’t just hack away at plants that show up in his garden, Cloud, until he knows what they are.” 

“That’s not one of your best metaphors, _shachou_ ,” Reno said. “You don’t even like taking care of house plants.” 

“Rufus, that _thing_ in there is a weed and it will kill all the other plants if you don’t get rid of it.” 

“So does that make you the lawnmower, Strife?” Reno cleared his throat. “Sorry. S’just. I don’t know shit about gardens, but I’m starting to feel left out, here.” 

“The point is,” Cloud continued, raising his voice. “You know what he’s capable of, and if you think for _one second_ \--” 

“Did I kill him?” 

Sephiroth’s voice stopped Cloud cold. He looked over his shoulder. Sephiroth was watching him. 

“Yes,” Cloud said, eyes burning. _You might as well have._

Sephiroth merely nodded. “I see.” He looked away, head tilted so his face was covered by the fall of his hair, and said nothing further. 

Cloud turned on his heel and walked out of the room. He was convinced if he stayed there one second longer, someone was going to bleed.


	2. Lazarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sephiroth has no idea how many years he's lost to his amnesia, but he knows one thing for sure -- something very bad happened to the Midgar, and it's beginning to look like it's all his fault.

**Chapter Two: Lazarus**

Sephiroth watched the young man stalk out of the room, leaving Shinra and the Turk standing there frowning after him. He resisted the urge to start pacing the small perimeter of the cell, and instead pressed his fingers to his temples in an attempt to mitigate his headache. His head was throbbing and he still felt vaguely sick to his stomach, nauseous in a way that hinted at severe dehydration. 

The state of Midgar and the ShinRa Tower told Sephiroth that something very bad had happened, and both his amnesia and the reactions of those he’d encountered suggested he was somehow responsible. So he’d voluntarily surrendered himself and his weapon, expecting to be escorted somewhere a bit less...spartan. Given the condition of the city, it was possible there was no alternative. Still, Shinra and his Turk both looked well enough, clean and adequately provisioned. 

Even the angry young man in the SOLDIER uniform, whose name Sephiroth still couldn’t recall, didn’t appear to be suffering from malnourishment. Meaning they should be giving him food and water at the very least, and the fact that they weren’t spoke volumes about their intentions and their perception of recent events. 

They thought they couldn’t trust him, because he was hiding something. Which was why, no matter how many times he asked, they wouldn’t tell him the current date or even how much time had passed since he was sent to Nibelheim. 

It had to have been more than five years, if Rufus Shinra’s appearance was anything to go by. The last time Sephiroth saw him, Shinra had been in his late teens. His features had been softer, less defined. He had also been more of a brat, back then. His attitude seemed to have changed dramatically for the better, which was something of a relief. The man facing him through the glass bore little resemblance to the sullen young man of Sephiroth’s memories.

“Are you certain you didn’t recognize him?” 

Rufus Shinra’s voice was also nothing like his father’s. The elder Shinra -- who must be dead, as Sephiroth didn’t think the man was the type to step down gracefully while still breathing-- had been fond of raising his voice to command attention. It suddenly occurred to Sephiroth that Rufus reminded him quite strongly of Tseng. Not physically, of course, but there was a certain similarity in mannerisms, in Rufus’s relaxed body language; even when he was holding a shotgun to someone’s head, he didn’t appear ruffled in the slightest. His voice, that quiet and yet commanding tone, was definitely indicative of the Turk’s influence. 

_Ah, Tseng. A very clever strategy, turning Rufus into a Turk before he became a president._

“No, I’m certain that I _did_ recognize him,” Sephiroth said, and as calmly as he answered the question he couldn’t help the way his mouth tightened. He tipped his head, hiding for a moment behind a veil of silver hair. Being stared at through glass reminded him unpleasantly of his childhood.

Sephiroth shook his head, dismissing the memories. “Am I permitted to know his name, Rufus?” Sephiroth realized his error and added, smoothly, “President Shinra. My apologies, it will take some time to get used to all the...changes.” 

Rufus snorted. “That was diplomatic of you. And here they said you weren’t very good at diplomacy.” 

He hadn’t been trying to be diplomatic. He was simply attempting to observe the proper protocols, though his patience was wearing thin at their lack of respect. “And did _they_ say where I might have been, the last few years?” 

Rufus’s smile turned sharp. Sephiroth wondered if the man had any idea he wore the Turks’ tutelage like a uniform, as visible as that black-and-white suit he was always wearing when he visited Sephiroth’s cell. “I know you’re very curious, but I have to ask you to refrain from asking questions at the moment. You’ll be briefed in due time, I promise you.” 

Sephiroth nodded, fingers clenched tight at his sides, feeling his nails bite through the leather of his gloves. He did not want to ask for water. He was stronger than that, he had endured far worse, and if Rufus insisted on interrogation tactics, then so be it. 

Rufus was talking to the Turk again, a tall man with startlingly red hair whom Sephiroth remembered as Reno. He had clearly risen far in the organization, as he’d accompanied Rufus on every one of his visits. Sephiroth could not hear what they were saying; even with enhanced senses, the glass partition made it damnably hard to eavesdrop. He stood at ease, with his hands behind his back, fighting the wave of dizziness and the persistent clamoring of his body for water. 

“We’ll be back in a few hours. In the meantime, try to rest.” Rufus’s entire demeanor was professionalism at its finest; if he was taking any enjoyment from Sephiroth’s condition, there wasn’t a hint of it to be found. “Is there anything you require, in the meantime?” 

“No.” 

“And you’re sure you don’t know the name of the man who just left?” 

It wasn’t surprising that Rufus was questioning him about the angry young man again. It was obvious he expected some sort of answer, and that he was disappointed in Sephiroth’s inability to give it to him. Sephiroth wondered what it was, exactly, that Rufus wanted to hear. 

Sephiroth raised his chin and made his words very clear and precise. “I will repeat myself once again. No, I do not know the name of the man who was in here. Only that he might have been an infantryman who was friends with SOLDIER First Class Zack Fair, but Zack was well-liked by everyone, so that hardly narrows down the field.” 

“Are you thirsty?” 

Sephiroth actually smiled. “With all due respect, President Shinra, I would remind you that I’m quite well-versed in military torture and interrogation tactics, including sensory deprivation and restriction of food and water.” 

He did not add that he’d learned those from Hojo before he’d ever started his SOLDIER training. 

“And if I was attempting such a thing?” 

“It wouldn’t change my answer in the slightest.” 

“Perhaps in a few hours you’ll have changed your mind,” Rufus said, smoothly. “Come along, Reno.” 

Sephiroth watched them leave, the lights following a few minutes later. It left him in the dark, unable to make out anything but the standard-issue military cot and the toilet in his room. He laughed. _Amateurs_. 

Sephiroth lay down on his back on the cold stone floor. He closed his eyes, his fingers tangling in the back of his hair and pulling slightly, almost rhythmically, until he relaxed enough to separate his mind from his body, which needed things like water and sustenance and sleep. 

It was something else he’d learned from Hojo, though mostly out of necessity. Hojo’s treatments would have left him in screaming agony as a child if he hadn’t figured out a way to divorce his mental self from his physical one. The key was being able to relax deeply enough. It was one reason why Sephiroth had fought like a wild animal every time Hojo had tried to cut his hair, because nothing had ever managed to relax him as quickly as his habit of twining his hair around his fingers and tugging. 

Once, after some particularly painful and invasive procedure, Sephiroth had slowly drifted back to his trembling body and found he was still doing it, winding the strands around his fingers and tugging, over and over. Hojo was there, of course, with the ever-present clipboard in one hand and his pen in another. But he was watching Sephiroth with an odd expression on his face, and it took Sephiroth a moment to finally recognize it as an expression of pain. 

Hojo had blinked, scowled, then snapped something or other and walked away, scribbling and muttering to himself as usual. It was the only time Sephiroth ever saw an expression like that on Hojo’s face, but he never again said a single word to Sephiroth about his hair. Sephiroth had watched him very carefully after that, wanting to see if perhaps Hojo, who also wore his hair long, indulged in a similar habit. But Hojo’s hair remained in its usual ponytail, utterly ignored, so it didn’t seem likely that Sephiroth had learned it by observation. 

Growing up, Sephiroth had heard plenty of whispers and rumors that Hojo was his father. Hojo was a brilliant scientist, and Sephiroth had some admiration for the man’s tenacity and intelligence even if he despised him. 

He’d confronted Hojo about it only once, asking _is it true you’re my father?_ in the same sort of voice he’d use if he were asking a question about his homework assignment. 

Hojo had stared at him with those flat, cold eyes of his and said, “What made you ask me such a thing? Has someone been telling you stories, boy? Gast? Who was it?” 

Sephiroth kept his glee at angering Hojo locked safely away, so he could think about it later and not end up in a mako shower. “Everyone,” he’d said, and instead of a teenage boy’s sullenness it was simply the truth. He could start saying names, but Hojo wouldn’t let him finish, he would only get angry and someone would disappear. Or Sephiroth would see them again, floating in a tank filled with mako and staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. 

Oddly, the answer seemed to have been the correct one, because Hojo calmed immediately and didn’t demand any further information. He’d laughed that shrill laugh of his and said, “That’s because I made you, Sephiroth. That’s why they say that. Think of me as you will, but I suppose _creator_ is the same as father, hmm?” 

It wasn’t, but Sephiroth hadn’t said that. He’d learned, by then, when to think things and when not to say them. 

Sephiroth’s fingers pulled a little harder. _It’s not a good idea to think about Hojo if you want to relax,_ he told himself firmly. He did know that Hojo was dead, because the guard he’d come across that first night told him as much when Sephiroth inquired after his whereabouts. Sephiroth wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It had been a long time since he’d interacted with the man. 

He focused again on the twist-pull, twist-pull of his hair until his mind began to drift again, until he didn’t feel the chill seeping through his leather coat, the hunger gnawing at him, or the dry, swollen thing his mouth had become. 

Instead, he thought about Zack. Hoping that it would stir up memories of what happened, tell him if he’d really killed Zack after all, confirm if he’d really earned the hatred blazing from Cloud’s sky-bright eyes -- 

_Cloud._

Sephiroth’s eyes opened.


	3. Too Many Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cloud angsts, Tifa fusses, and Elena tells it like it is.

Chapter Three: Too Many Friends 

Cloud followed the obvious path of destruction until he was outside of the ShinRa Tower, and stood for a moment in the deserted street, looking up at what was left of the building. When he’d first come here, desperate to prove himself as a SOLDIER, had he gazed up at the Tower and seen only the shining promise of future glory? 

It was hard to imagine, if so. Both the Tower and the impressionable young kid he’d been were tarnished and cracked beyond repair. Looking at the ruins, all Cloud could see was fire and smoke, death and destruction. There was no glory in any of it. Maybe there never had been. 

Cloud turned away and started walking down the empty streets, barely aware of where he was going. When he found himself in front of a familiar church, he wasn’t entirely surprised. He always did tend to come here when the darkness of the past made it hard for him breathe. 

Aerith’s church was something of a shrine. The people didn’t really understand what had healed them from the Geostigma, but they understood the Planet was responsible, and knew it’d happened here. People saw it as a place to ask for forgiveness, to bring offerings and quiet words of gratitude. On the one hand, he was glad because he knew Aerith would like that; she’d always been compassionate to just about anyone. 

On the other hand, Cloud resented the fact it wasn’t a quiet sanctuary to which he could escape anymore, a place he could be alone with his thoughts. Nowadays, he had to pay five gil to enter. 

There was a young girl in the front of the church selling flowers. Cloud bought one, mumbled his thanks and declined going inside to put it in the water as was the custom. He inhaled it instead, seeking some comfort from the scent of it and finding none. 

The petals of the flower were soft against his cheek. _What does it mean that Sephiroth is back, and I can’t hear either of you?_ There was a voice that said _you’ve failed them and that’s why you don’t hear them anymore,_ but Cloud ignored it.

There was an old woman crouched in the alley next to the church, wearing rags and muttering to herself. Midgar had always been home to a transient population of unfortunate individuals, especially in the slums. That there were no more slums, that there was no more _Midgar_ , didn’t seem to matter one little bit. 

Cloud met the woman’s eyes. She nodded, and he gave her the flower without a word. 

She took it, muttering something that sounded like, “There’s more than one way out of a maze.” 

Cloud blinked, confused, wondering if he’d heard her correctly. She was old, and the lack of teeth made it hard to understand her words. “Huh?” No one had ever accused him of eloquence. 

The woman blinked, then scowled. Then she shrieked that Cloud should give her money, not flowers, and tried to throw a rock at him. The last thing he saw was her trying to eat the flower, and then spitting it on the ground in disgust. 

_If that’s a sign or something, Aerith, you’re going to have to be a lot less subtle because I totally don’t get it._

As usual, there was no answer. 

* * * 

Seventh Heaven was open by the time Cloud got back to Edge, but only barely. There were already a few customers inside. Apparently it was never too early to start drinking. Cloud couldn’t blame them, not after the day he’d had. 

Tifa gave him a smile and a wave from behind the bar, and he noticed how the lines of tension around her eyes, that sadness that had seemed so long a part of her, were finally starting to fade. It was nearly unthinkable to him that it was because of _Elena_ , but he couldn’t deny that Tifa’s relationship with the other woman had certainly helped put a smile on her face. 

Cloud wondered if he should tell her about Sephiroth. 

_I seem to recall you were friendly with SOLDIER First Class Zack Fair._

Not once, in all the times they’d faced each other since Nibelheim, had Sephiroth ever mentioned Zack. 

_What if he isn’t lying?_ whispered that traitorous voice in his head. _What if he’s not lying, and what if there’s a chance he’s the man he was before he went insane at Nibelheim?_

Zack would want him to try, Cloud knew that. Zack never gave up on anyone -- if he had, Cloud wouldn’t be here. Zack had faced down a barrage of bullets with a raised sword and a _fuck you_ grin, and he was the bravest man Cloud had ever met. Sephiroth might have been Cloud’s hero when he first joined ShinRa, but it wasn’t long before that distinction went to Zack. 

Zack, who was dead now -- had been dead, for almost ten years. He hadn’t been there, in the Northern Crater. He hadn’t been on the top of the old ShinRa building while the sky churned in a maelstrom of fury. He didn’t know what kind of monster Sephiroth had become, how all that power and grace and terrible, terrible beauty had been twisted by rage.

If Nibelheim was enough for Zack to tell Cloud to finish him off, what would Zack say _now_ , if he knew the rest of it? 

Cloud climbed the steps to his room, not wanting to explain to Tifa where he’d been. He felt like a coward, but he was also tired of constantly being some harbinger of doom, a crow of ill-omen that only knew one song. 

He looked at himself in the mirror over the small dresser in his room. Even beneath the mako glow, his eyes seemed dull. The skin beneath them was darkened by exhaustion. His hair looked even more ridiculous than usual. 

_So maybe I’m more like a chocobo of ill-omen,_ he thought, smiling humorlessly. 

Sephiroth had looked tired, too. In all their improbable encounters, Cloud had never noticed Sephiroth looking anything but crazy. 

Scowling, he raked a hand through his messy spikes and turned away from the mirror. Nothing in his reflection was going to give him the answers. 

Cloud told himself to go see Tifa, but instead he went to lie down on his bed. He stared at the ceiling, arguing with himself about why he should tell her about Sephiroth, why he shouldn’t -- and somewhere in the middle of arguing with himself, he fell asleep. 

His dreams were uneasy, tinged with a haze like a mako tank. Cloud couldn’t remember the last time he’d been privileged enough to sleep without dreams. 

A few hours later, he woke up with a start as Tifa shook him awake with a very loud, _Cloud Strife_! 

“I was going to tell you!” Cloud said, sitting up and trying to calm his racing heart. From the corner of his eye, he saw Elena leaning against the doorway and smirking. 

Great. 

Tifa made a disparaging sound. “Uh-huh. Sure you were.” 

“I was!” Cloud shook his head, trying to get his bearings. “I, um. I was thinking about….how to do that, and I fell asleep.” Absurd, but mostly true. 

Tifa hit him on the shoulder. Not gently, either. “Idiot. When are you going to believe me when I tell you that you don’t have to protect me all the time? Cloud, we’re not ten years old anymore.” Her hand reached out as if she were going to smooth his hair back, but he flinched on instinct and she dropped it at the last second. 

“Tifa,” he said, unable to vocalize anything he was feeling at the moment; how he was sorry he didn’t tell her, how he was tired of being the one who made her look just like she did right now, stooped shoulders and lowered eyes. Disappointed. 

It only lasted a moment, and then she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, scowling at him again. “I know. Cloud, I _know_. I just...why would you think I wouldn’t want to know that Sephiroth was back?” 

Chills raced up and down Cloud’s spine at the words. He shot Elena a glower. “Maybe I knew someone else would tell you, first.” 

“Oh, don’t give me that shit, Strife,” Elena said. “Of course I told her. She’s my girlfriend, the man is a potential threat. I don’t have to drown in angst or take a nap for two hours to figure out she should probably know about it.” 

Cloud opened his mouth, but she had a point. “Tell that to Rufus,” he said. “He doesn’t think the man is a threat at all.” 

“Of course he does,” Elena said. “Why do you think Rufus wanted you to know that Sephiroth was in custody? He never would have brought you into it at all, if he didn’t think Sephiroth wouldn’t need to be put down at some point.” 

“If?” Tifa’s voice was incredulous. “ _If_?” 

“Yeah, Rufus thinks there’s a good reason to keep him around.” 

Cloud shot Elena a dark look. “He didn’t happen to tell you what those were, did he?” 

Elena just shrugged. “The president has his reasons.” 

“Which are?” Tifa demanded, standing up and whirling on her girlfriend with hands on her hips. 

“Not mine to share,” Elena said.  
“That means you think they’re stupid, doesn’t it?” 

At Tifa’s bluntly spoken declaration, Elena’s fair features colored a little. “It’s not my call to make, Tifa.” 

“There shouldn’t even be a call _to_ make,” Tifa said, a statement with which Cloud wholeheartedly agreed. Also, he was glad that Tifa seemed to be mad at Rufus now, instead of at him. 

“He wants to see you,” Elena told Cloud, as if reading his mind. “President Shinra, I mean.” 

“I’ll bet he does.” Cloud smiled grimly. “Tell him unless he wants me to _put Sephiroth down_ , I’m not interested.” 

“I’ll relay the message,” Elena promised, then looked at her girlfriend. “Tif, I’m going to go change, okay? I’ll meet you in twenty minutes.” 

Tifa nodded, and they were quiet after she left the room. Cloud steeled himself for what he knew was coming, which was undoubtedly a conversation involving his feelings. Fuck. 

“Why _wouldn’t_ you tell me, Cloud?” 

“I didn’t want to upset you.” 

“ _You’re_ not upsetting me.” She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. “I wish you would just talk to me, instead of getting all worked up about...talking to me.” 

“Then you might as well wish I was a different person,” Cloud said, and she laughed, even though he wasn’t really joking. 

She straightened, smoothing a hand over her skirt (which had gotten shorter, and her tops tighter, since Elena) and regarded him solemnly. “What are you going to do?” 

“I don’t know,” he said. “Go and see what Rufus wants, I guess. Maybe kill Sephiroth.” 

Cloud stared out of the window, at the streetlights as they trembled to life. There weren’t that many, a mere fraction of how bright the streets used to be in Midgar. Energy reserves were far more precious, now. “Isn’t that what I should do?” 

Tifa stepped up behind him and rubbed a comforting hand on his back. This time, he didn’t flinch from the touch. “You know how I feel about him. But killing someone for something they didn’t do...doesn’t that make us just as bad as him?” 

“Not remembering and not doing something aren’t the same thing, though,” Cloud pointed out. He turned to look at her, eyes searching hers for answers. “Besides. That’s _if_ he’s telling the truth, about not remembering.” 

She nodded. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t kill him. I’m just tired of fighting ghosts, I guess. They never go away, but we keep doing it, over and over, even though it doesn’t matter.” 

The old woman’s words from in front of Aerith’s church echoed in Cloud’s mind. _There’s more than one way out of the maze._

Outside, a streetlight flared into sudden, bright life. It was either a sign, or a remarkable coincidence of timing. Either way, it set Cloud back to thinking too much, and he barely gave notice as Tifa left him to it, shutting the door quietly behind her.


	4. Devil in the Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sephiroth learns about his missing years, his parents, and why Cloud Strife can't stand to look at him.
> 
> (The cake incident mentioned is the one in "Just Desserts" -- so technically that is in the same 'verse as this story)

**Chapter 4: Devil in the Details**

 

Along with food and water, they brought him a newspaper. 

Sephiroth sat on his cot, sipping the water and resisting the urge to gulp it down. He resisted the same urge to devour the food that accompanied it, fresh fruit and soup and bread. He knew from experience that to do anything else would only make him sick. 

That, and he was dizzy enough from finally learning the date. Ten years had passed since he’d told Zack Fair to assemble a team and meet him on the SOLDIER floor for their mission to Nibelheim. Ten _years_. What was left of Midgar was now called Edge, and while he wasn’t sure why, he had a feeling he was going to find out sooner rather than later. 

Sephiroth read the entire paper, mostly out of boredom. He tried doing the crossword puzzle, an admittedly difficult task to accomplish without a pen. Still, it gave his mind something to do, a logical problem on which to focus, which was a welcome respite. 

The next day, Rufus and two of his Turks brought Sephiroth a barrage of reading materials; along with a small writing desk and chair, an empty notebook and an assortment of pens (the presentation of which made Sephiroth glance at the discarded newspaper and sigh), and plenty of food and water. 

Rufus also left him a two-way communication device. “When you’re finished with the materials, and have had a chance to...absorb the information, you are to contact me so that we may make arrangements to transport you somewhere more comfortable. It’s very important you realize that, unless you want to rot away in this cell in the dark, _you_ need to contact _me_. It will not happen any other way. Do you understand?” 

“Yes.” 

Rufus nodded. “Good.” He stood up, regarded Sephiroth for a long moment in silence. 

Sephiroth regarded him steadily right back, eventually raising one eyebrow in a wordless query. 

“I barely remember you, from before,” Rufus said, and he sounded surprisingly candid, no longer the smooth, carmel-voiced politician. “I always saw you as a...well. You were never quite human to me, and I understand that’s because you weren’t supposed to be seen that way. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what my father’s company did to you, Sephiroth. It doesn’t change or even excuse anything, but I still want you to know that.”

Sephiroth had no idea what to say to that. He just nodded, though he didn’t particularly understand, and watched Rufus and the others leave. 

Alone, he turned and glanced at the small desk and the materials arranged thereon. All of his missing memories, waiting to be discovered. 

A sense of unease settled around him as he pulled out the chair, and he had the briefest urge to take one of the pens and fill out the crossword puzzle instead. But his curiosity eventually overcame the dread, and he was tired of everyone else knowing more about the last ten years of his life than he did. 

That, and one of Rufus’s lapdogs had taken the paper with the crossword puzzle. Of course. 

* * * 

The information about his missing years was contained in various file folders, each labeled with names or incidents, such as _The Situation at Nibelheim_ and _Deepground and the Ultimate Weapon_. They sounded like the titles of late-night movies, the kind Angeal used to watch when he couldn’t sleep. 

( _How does watching monster movies help you sleep?_ Sephiroth asked him, once, when he came across Angeal on the sofa, staring mindlessly at one such movie at two in the morning. 

_I don’t know_ , Angeal had said, smiling a little. _I guess somehow it helps because the good guys always win in the end._ ) 

There were also a few books, with titles like _On a Mako Sunrise -- How a Small Company Came to Rule the World_ , _Towers and Tribulations -- The Decline of ShinRa’s Supremacy in the West_ , and, Sephiroth’s personal favorite, _In The Shadows of the Reactor -- How ShinRa Orchestrated the Wutai War, and Other Dark Truths of the World’s Most Powerful Company_.

Those books seemed to be intended for consumption by the general population, as the others were more academically-oriented. They had titles such as; _Red, Silver and Black -- The Use of Color as Propaganda In the Wutai War_ , _The Silver Elite -- An Analysis of SOLDIER Fan Clubs and Their Purpose_ and _ShinRa’s SOLDIERs -- An Examination of Genetic Terrorism, Foreign Conflict and Xenophobia._

The titles made him roll his eyes, but the message he took from the existence of these publications was that ShinRa -- at least, the ShinRa Sephiroth had known -- was now something to be studied, examined, taken apart. The world as he’d known it had become history. 

Sephiroth divided the files into two piles: one that started with Nibelheim and his missing immediate past, and one with everything prior to that that he remembered. He sorted the files accordingly, and began to read. 

He read through everything once, then opened the notebook he’d been given and wrote down his immediate reaction. 

He noted with a frown that his hands were shaking, slightly. That was unacceptable. As was his penmanship, affected by the tremor in his hands, though the words themselves were easy enough to read. 

_I was a failure._

Sephiroth knew what happened to those specimens marked as failures, because Hojo made him watch as they were stripped down into raw materials, screaming and without the benefit of anesthesia. 

At the time, he hadn’t really understood he was watching living things, humans and animals with souls and a consciousness, being slaughtered on the altar of Hojo’s mad genius. 

Hojo, his father. There it was, laid out in black and white text and relevant DNA results, which left little room for error. There were also photographs, which Sephiroth spent a good deal of time studying; but no matter how hard he tried, he could see little resemblance, at least physically, between the two of them. Other than a slight similarity in their profiles and facial structures, it would seem as if he inherited most of his physical features from his mother. 

His _mother_. Lucrecia Crescent, a scientist who was -- as improbable as it seemed -- married to Hojo. Sephiroth stared at her photographs until his eyes burned with the need to blink. Her hair was long, like his, and she had the same cowlicks at her temples that caused her hair to stick up on either side of her forehead. There was a delicateness in her features that he saw in his own; the shape of her mouth, the tilt of her nose. This was his mother, and no one had ever told him so much as her name. 

Even his father had never treated him as anything more than a laboratory experiment. 

Sephiroth remembered how sometimes Hojo would look at him, a gleam in his eyes and an expression somewhere between obsession and reverence on his face, and that made him wonder if maybe, to Hojo, being a _creation_ was somehow better than a son. 

There were a few other pictures in the folder, of both his mother and his father (how strange, to think he had parents, human parents, like everyone else), though there was only one with the two of them together. At first it struck him as a rather boring photograph of an unremarkable scene, as if someone had walked into the room and snapped a picture the second they looked up. 

But on closer examination, Sephiroth noticed that Hojo -- who, he was surprised to see, was smoking a cigarette -- wasn’t looking at the camera, but rather over at Lucrecia. In this photograph of a younger Hojo, the similarities in their profiles were more pronounced. Hojo was either smiling or smirking, it was hard to tell. 

Sephiroth’s eyes were drawn back to Lucrecia. She was looking down, but he could see that she was smiling, a small, reserved smile that looked exactly like his own. She had one hand on her stomach, and the other was twined in her ponytail, which was pulled over her shoulder. He could see the strands of her hair wrapped around her fingers. 

She was tugging her hair. 

Sephiroth flipped the picture over. Someone had written _L: 3 mos._ on the back. Sephiroth knew the handwriting. He’d seen it often enough growing up, on clipboards and in files, on notes haphazardly stuck around the laboratory. 

His mother was three months pregnant with him, in this photograph. 

Was Hojo taking this picture to document his wife’s pregnancy, because she was his wife or because their child was an experiment? 

_It doesn’t matter,_ he told himself, firmly. They were scientists who bred you to be a weapon. ShinRa is the only father and mother you’ve ever known. Don’t make these people something they’re not, just so you feel more like a human. 

Rufus Shinra’s words echoed briefly in his mind. _You were never quite human to me._

Sephiroth forced himself to focus on the materials again, and again, until he was able to read through them without his hands shaking, without his handwriting betraying any hint of the sudden rush of nerves caused from his revelations. Only then did he start making notes in the files. 

The first correction he made was to the date of his birth, which was listed as _unknown_. He knew the date, but not the year, only because Genesis found out and told him what it was -- via a surprise birthday party. Angeal had made Sephiroth a cake. Sephiroth remembered the evening very well, both the cake and what happened afterwards. He’d never celebrated his birthday again, but he remembered the date regardless. 

It occurred to him that Genesis might have made the entire thing up; in fact, he couldn’t imagine Hojo leaving a file around with that information on it, which was how Genesis claimed to have learned the date in the first place. But Sephiroth did not change the correction on the file. It was as good a date as any. 

The other was a bit of conjecture about his sexual history, which posited he was either asexual or under the influence of drugs that effectively nullified his sex drive. That one made his eyebrows raise, and he tapped the edge of his pen on the desk before writing, _I simply learned to carry out my affairs in regards to such matters with discretion_ , in the margins. 

It was mentioned that he was friends with Genesis Rhapsodos and Angeal Hewley, who were themselves noted as being “romantically involved.” Sephiroth’s involvement was neither mentioned nor conjectured, and he preferred it that way. It hadn’t really mattered in the end, the two of them had --despite any promises or assurances to the contrary -- chosen each other over him. 

There were pictures in the file of the three of them, in various combinations. Some were the normal sort of military photographs, but others were more personal. One was of him and Genesis, dressed in civilian clothes, outside in what looked to be downtown Midgar. Genesis was actually _smiling_ instead of smirking, for once. His arm was around Sephiroth’s shoulders. 

Sephiroth himself wasn’t smiling in the photograph, but he was leaning towards Genesis slightly, and his shoulders were relaxed beneath the weight of Genesis’s arm. 

There was a picture of Sephiroth in a New Year’s hat, in which he _was_ smiling, because it was the first and only time in his life he’d gotten drunk. The photograph had been taped up in Genesis’s uniform locker, which Sephiroth hated, but he never wanted to give Genesis the satisfaction of complaining about it. Sephiroth’s fingers rubbed over the remnants of tape on the top edge of the photograph, wondering if the rest was still stuck to the metal locker -- before remembering there was no locker, the ShinRa SOLDIER floor was destroyed along with the rest of the Tower. The only thing left was this dank, underground cell in which he was currently residing. 

There was a picture of him and Angeal at a ShinRa event, both of them in suits. Sephiroth looked uncomfortable, as he always was at those sorts of things. Angeal was giving the photographer a semi-threatening look, with his dark brows drawn together, but the slight smile on his face told Sephiroth exactly who the photographer must have been. 

Angeal was holding a beer. Sephiroth was holding a glass of water in one hand, and red wine in the other. Holding Genesis’s drink, so he could take the picture. 

There was only one photograph of the three of them together. Sephiroth couldn’t remember who took it, or why they’d done so, but he knew exactly where it’d come from. Angeal had it in a frame, in his apartment. 

_In case I have to prove to anyone that you do know how to smile, Seph._

Someone must have taken the photograph out of the frame when Angeal defected and abandoned ShinRa. The thought of someone going through Angeal’s apartment, cleaning it out and relegating things to filing cabinets, or throwing Angeal’s plants into the dumpster -- the plants he and Genesis always forgot to water when Angeal was on assignment -- made him angry. 

Sephiroth slammed the file shut. It didn’t matter. That part of his life was over, even before he lost his memories. 

There were not a lot of notes to make, when it came to the reports that filled in the missing gaps in his memory. He did note that Genesis Rhapsodos, when learning of his degradation, went back to Banora and killed his parents and a good number of the townspeople. The similarities between that and Sephiroth’s own violent behavior in Nibelheim -- which, he noted with some surprise, was technically _his_ hometown -- were unavoidable. Sephiroth thought it was a failure on behalf of the archivist who had put together the materials, not to make mention of such a similarity.

He made a note in the margin to that effect. 

As he read each successive report detailing his _delusions of grandeur_ (the phrase was offensive, as he had apparently nearly succeeding in ending the world _twice_ \-- which told him his actions, while indeed grand, were hardly _delusional_ ), he noticed one name that kept repeating itself, in conjunction with his own, as if the two were not able to exist separately of the other. 

Cloud Strife. 

The angry young man with the SOLDIER eyes, Hojo’s _guest_ in a Mako tank for four years, along with First Class Soldier Zack Fair. Zack, who had thrown himself in front of an army to become the hero he’d always wanted to be, saving Cloud’s life in the process. Cloud, who’d awoken from a Mako coma and thought he _was_ Zack. 

Cloud, who was also from Nibelheim. The city which Sephiroth had burned to the ground out of rage. Afterwards, ShinRa announced that SOLDIERs First Class Sephiroth and Zack Fair were killed on active duty, while trying to save citizens when the reactor exploded in Nibelheim. Internal memos reported trooper Cloud Strife was _Missing In Action_. 

There were plans to conduct a public service in remembrance of Sephiroth and his fellow Firsts, but it was never realized. The plans were probably still stuck in a committee somewhere when Sephiroth returned to ShinRa Tower and killed the president. 

_You’re welcome, Rufus._ He did not write that observation down in the notebook, though he did make mention of how odd it was that he left his sword. Not because the gesture was a bit too dramatic for his tastes -- he’d summoned a meteor, it seemed pointless to argue against his theatrical tendencies -- but because it left him unarmed. 

His motivations for trying to end the world were confusing, and from what he could understand, were intermixed with the desires of the creature called Jenova. A creature who wasn’t his mother, but whose cells Sephiroth did carry in his bloodstream. A significant number of her cells, so much so that when he saw a photograph of the specimen in the tank…

 _I look more like her than either of my biological parents._

The picture was unsettling, not only because of the physical resemblance but the certainty that he _should_ feel something, even if he wasn’t sure what. It was frustrating, a dull echo of a memory, like trying to recollect how pain felt years after the initial experience. He couldn’t comprehend how he had so willingly done this creature’s bidding, or _why_ , and he definitely did not understand _why he kept coming back_ every time he failed to do so. 

_I failed. More than once._

That was incredibly galling. He hated, _hated_ the idea of failing to do something. 

Sephiroth’s last note was _is it possible I am simply a Sephiroth clone of Jenova’s, lost and wandering without purpose now that she is destroyed?_

The thought bothered him, but it shouldn’t. After all, what was he now? A weapon created by a company that no longer existed, to fight a war that was over years ago? Even if he wasn’t a clone, he was still wandering around without a purpose. 

_Unless my purpose is to lay waste to everything I touch._ Dramatic, but it was hard to deny his apparent talent for destruction. Midgar lay in ruins because of him. A town burned to ashes because of him. The last living Cetra, sent back to the Lifestream because of him. 

Aerith. Zack’s flower girl, about whom he’d waxed enthusiastic while Sephiroth only half-listened to him. Aerith, whom Sephiroth remembered as a little thing wrapped in a pink bundle, held tight in Ifalna’s arms. Professor Gast and his wife, who had been kind to him, once. Their daughter, and Sephiroth had killed her for getting in his way. 

In front of Cloud Strife, no less. At least Sephiroth understood the young man’s ire, now. If Sephiroth’s destiny was to be some firebrand of destruction, it seemed as if Cloud’s was to stand as witness while everything burned. 

_Not just a witness. He was the one who sent you back to the dark when you’d served your purpose. Or when you failed to serve your purpose._ Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed, and he was startled to hear a _snap_ and feel something break, a sudden spill of wetness on his hand. 

He looked down. The pen he’d been holding was snapped in two. 

Sephiroth stood up and washed his hand in the small sink. The soap was harsh and removed most of the ink, but there was still a slight stain against his skin, visible in a certain light. 

_I wonder if anyone would believe my dramatic gestures are mostly coincidental?_

Sephiroth’s eyes scanned the ceiling, his enhanced senses listening for the high-pitched whine of an electrical device. Rufus said they would leave him alone, but Sephiroth did not believe that for an instant. They might sing a different tune than the company he knew, ShinRa, but they were still playing the same instruments. 

“I’ve completed my homework,” Sephiroth said, once he’d located the likely position of the camera. He held up the cracked plastic that used to be his inkpen. “This was the only casualty.” 

He turned and went back to his cot, settling down on his back, fingers going to his hair out of habit. He would use the radio as instructed, of course, but he needed a moment to himself. 

Sephiroth thought about his mother, how she looked in the photograph of her and Hojo. He remembered the odd look on Hojo’s face when he caught Sephiroth pulling at his hair, and now he knew why. In that moment, he’d reminded Hojo of Lucrecia. 

_Why did you want me to be the son of an angry goddess, instead of hers? Is it because she left you? Is it because she was in love with someone else? Did you even care about her, enough to notice?_

Was Hojo capable of such depth of feeling for another person? Or did Hojo engineer Sephiroth and send him straight into Jenova’s cold arms just to see if he could? 

And his mother -- what kind of scientist was she, Lucrecia Crescent? Her thesis was a wildly theoretical treatise on a world-ending weapon and a _demon_ , her obsession with which caused her mentor’s death. What kind of _mother_ was she, to have a child and ignore its very existence, while focusing her attentions on experimental procedures to craft a demon to the soul of her incapacitated lover? 

Given his father’s god complex and his mother’s inability to cope with the consequences of her actions, why was anyone surprised when their son manifested _the exact same tendencies_? 

Sephiroth was unsure of what led him to so completely and utterly surrender himself to Jenova’s influence, but his actions seemed less motivated by science than….emotion. Which was unthinkable to him, to lose such control over himself that way. 

Jenova had tempted him, he understood that, by offering him something he wanted to convince him that he was her son, that he was chosen to do her bidding. What secret promises had she whispered to him in the dark?

_Did I want to drown the world in flames because I thought myself a god, or just because I wanted to watch it burn?_


	5. Teenage Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rufus is manipulative, and Cloud is evasive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not apologize for the title of this chapter. Also, I swear Cloud and Sephiroth eventually will be in the _same chapter_ and _in the same location_. Really. :D

**Chapter Five: Teenage Angst**

“No.” Cloud crossed his arms over his chest. “Absolutely _not_.” 

He was back in Rufus’s gleaming office, and this time he’d been surly and ungracious as the smiling Shinra employee had called to have him escorted there. His Turk guard this time had been Rude,who wasn’t much on small talk. That suited Cloud just fine. 

Rufus was dressed in his usual ensemble, sitting behind his desk and signing papers he didn’t appear to be reading. He’d gestured towards a seat, but Cloud had elected to stay standing. 

“I admit I’m surprised to hear you say that, Cloud,” Rufus said, in his politician voice. It made Cloud want to kick him in the ribs. Repeatedly.

“Really? You’re surprised I told _you_ no?” Cloud stared hard at Rufus. “Maybe you’re not smart enough to be in charge.” 

Rufus didn’t appear bothered by Cloud’s insults, but he’d always been a hard man to read. “I thought you’d be angrier if I asked someone _else_ to be Sephiroth’s guard, instead of you.” 

“Then you’re an idiot.” 

Rufus’s fair brows went up. “Cloud. I’m not saying that we’re keeping him alive indefinitely, I’m saying that we’re doing so for the _time being_. Until we can ascertain what the truth is, if he really has his memories or not.”

“Yeah, I heard all that the first two times you said it,” Cloud snapped. “What I didn’t hear was _why_.” 

Rufus’s icy, pale eyes locked on his. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Cloud gaped at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“I might explain,” Rufus offered, “If you weren’t standing here and telling me _no_.” He paused. “Then again, I might not.” 

“Then you can forget it.” Cloud turned to leave. 

“He remembered your name.” 

Cloud whirled back around to face him. “What?” 

“He said he had recalled that your name was Cloud, though he didn’t know why he knew that.” 

Cloud made a derisive noise. “Sure.” 

Rufus leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. He looked like a supervillain in a comic book, which, Cloud thought, might not be that far off of a comparison. “I took that to mean he was telling the truth about his momentary memory loss.” 

“Because that’s what you want it to mean.” Was Rufus really so easy to convince? What the fuck did he want Sephiroth around so badly for? 

Rufus shrugged. “Think what you will, Cloud. I’m not trying to argue with you. I’m trying to offer you...a chance to keep an eye on your old enemy. I’m not killing him, at least not right away, so it’s useless to try and convince me otherwise. What I need is someone to stay with him at Healen, until we figure out if he is, in fact, lying. And then we go on from there.” 

He made it sound so simple. Cloud exhaled sharply, feeling his head begin to throb at the temples. “And if he’s lying?” 

“Then he’ll be put down,” Rufus said, easily. “I’m aware of how dangerous he is.” 

_If you were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation._ “Uh-huh.” 

“So you’re telling me no? I’m sorry to rush you for a decision, but I’m very busy.” 

Cloud’s eyes narrowed. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to be so easy. “Told you that about two minutes ago.”

“All right. Then I’ll brief Elena that she needs to be ready to depart to Healen.” 

Cloud blinked. “Elena? You’re sending _Elena_?” 

“Do you have some issue with how I choose to manage my Turks and their assignments?” 

Obviously. Cloud gritted his teeth. “Why her?” 

Rufus smiled his cheshire smile at Cloud and rose from his seat. “I have my reasons. Thank you for agreeing to see me,” he said, extending his hand. “I apologize for taking up your time.” 

Cloud ignored the proffered hand and glared. “Why _Elena_ , Rufus?” 

“You know, Cloud,” Rufus said, dropping his arm. “I should let you walk out of here and wait for you to figure it out yourself, but I’m starting to think that might take you way too long. As I said, I’m a busy man.” 

“Huh?” Cloud scowled. He’d never met anyone who talked as much as Rufus, without actually _saying_ anything. It must be a politician thing. 

“If you don’t agree to go to Healen, Elena will go in your place.” Rufus paused. Cloud continued to glare, and finally Rufus heaved a sigh and said, “Do you think Tifa will be happy about that, Cloud?” 

Ah. If Cloud didn’t agree, Rufus would send the one person who made Tifa happy to guard a madman capable of ending the world. “You expect me to believe you’d really send Elena?” 

Rufus shrugged. “Why not? If you don’t do it, someone has to. Reno is too hotheaded, Tseng is the director and is needed here, and that leaves me with Rude and Elena.” 

“Or,” Cloud suggested, “You could do what I’ve been saying all along and _just let me kill him_.” 

Rufus continued as if Cloud hadn’t spoken. “Elena is exceptionally skilled in martial arts combat, and yes, there’s added benefit that sending her might sway you into accepting my offer. She’s the most logical choice for me to get what I want, which is for _you_ to do it. You might not like Elena and Tifa’s relationship, but you _do_ want your friend to be happy, don’t you?” 

“Maybe not,” Cloud said. “Rufus, you are a fucking prick, did you know that?” 

Rufus nodded. “I’ve been told that before. Listen to me, Cloud. If you walk out of that door, I will send Elena in your place to Healen. And furthermore, if Tifa says she wants to accompany Elena, I’ll allow that, too.”

“Elena wouldn’t,” Cloud snapped. “I know that much about her.” 

“She could try and stop Tifa, but do you think that would work? I don’t know her as well as you do, of course, but _I_ don’t think it would. And what would happen to the bar in her absence? I know Tifa’s very proud of its success. I suppose you could manage it while she was at Healen, but I have to say, Cloud, your people skills aren’t quite up to par. I think you’d do better with Sephiroth than the general public.” 

“I _hate_ you,” Cloud said.

“I can tell.” Rufus didn’t look particularly concerned. “I’m not trying to make friends with you, Cloud.” 

“You’re trying to manipulate me.” 

“Yes,” Rufus said. “I am. Because you’re the best person suited for this assignment.” 

“I am not,” Cloud said, voice dangerously low, “one of your Turks, Rufus.” 

“If you were one of my Turks, Cloud,” Rufus said, his voice just as low, “I wouldn’t need to _manipulate_ you into doing anything. You’d just take your orders and get out of my office.” 

Cloud took a step forward. Rufus didn’t give an inch. “How do I know you’re not bluffing?”

“I jumped off a building while firing a shotgun. Do you think I’m the kind of man who _bluffs_?” 

“That just makes you an idiot,” Cloud said, though honestly, he’d thought that was pretty badass of Rufus when he heard about it. “Goddamnit, Rufus.” 

“So, do I take it that you’ve changed your mind?” 

Cloud gave a rough jerk of his head, approximating a nod.

Rufus looked very pleased with himself. “I thought you might.” 

* * *  
Cloud wasn’t necessarily a man who _learned_ from all his mistakes, but he did try, on occasion, not to repeat them. 

This time, he didn’t angst over telling Tifa about Sephiroth. He knew he had to tell her, there was no way he could just up and vanish -- especially when she knew Sephiroth was alive somewhere. She’d be furious. 

So, Cloud decided the responsible thing to do was tell Tifa where he was going, and why. He wasn’t entirely sure how to phrase it, because saying _Sephiroth has taken enough happiness away from you,I won’t let him do it again_ was probably going to make her want to hit him. 

Really, when it came down to it, _anything_ he said was going to make her want to hit him. Cloud’s mood was gloomy as he made his way back to Seventh Heaven. He knew he was doing the thing that she hated, trying to protect her, but it was more than that, wasn’t it? 

He _was_ the only one who had ever managed to defeat Sephiroth. Sending anyone else would just prolong the inevitable confrontation, and give Cloud another person to mourn when it was over. 

_I’m so tired of this. Why can’t he just stay where he belongs?_

Cloud didn’t think Tifa would necessarily object to his plan of killing Sephiroth, but she _would_ probably dislike knowing he’d agreed because Rufus had threatened to send Elena. Knowing Tifa, she would have preferred that, just so _she_ could go along, too, and be the one to kill Sephiroth. 

The thought made Cloud’s blood run cold. 

_You didn’t kill her in Nibelheim and you won’t do it now. I won’t let you._

For some reason, Cloud and Sephiroth’s lives were wound up together like threads in a tapestry; woven together, tied up in knots too tight to unravel. 

And if that was how it had to be, then so be it. But he refused, he _refused_ , to allow the rest of his friends to be tangled up with the two of them. They should be cut loose, free to make some other picture. 

Cloud’s understanding of tapestries and their creation was vague at best. A little voice pointed out _if you cut a thread loose, it just falls useless to the ground, doesn’t it? Can you even use it again?_ Is that what he was, a loose thread? Fucking metaphors. Those were more Vincent’s style than his. 

Scowling, Cloud revved Fenrir’s engine and drove faster. All that mattered was that he was going to Healen and, once again, he was going to send Sephiroth back to hell where he belonged. Hopefully, this time the bastard would _stay there_. 

First, though, he had to tell Tifa. He was determined. He would not be swayed, he would not lie, and he would _not run away_. 

What he would do...was leave a note. 

* * *  
 _Tifa,_

_Rufus has decided to move Sephiroth to a secure location while he figures out if Sephiroth is lying about his memory loss. He asked me to go there and guard him. I’m going to have to kill him anyway, at least this way I won’t have to chase him around Gaia again._

_Don’t worry about me. This is pretty much the one thing I’m good at._

_Cloud_

__


	6. The Innocence of Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sephiroth dreams, wakes up in Healen and has dinner with the resort's only other guest. It's not a very pleasant experience for either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, Sephiroth and Cloud are in the same place! And the same chapter! A miracle :|

**Chapter Six: The Innocence of Sleep**

* * *   
_He was standing in a cold room, staring up at a tank where something was trapped, suspended in green fluid. Dust covered the nameplate, he could not make out the letters._

_**My son** , it said. **Free me, let us take this planet from those who would see us destroyed** …._

_The voice was one he did not know, but it called to something inside of him, something that **did**. And oh, how it rejoiced to hear that voice -- that endless, seductive voice -- _

_**See my name, and know me.** _

_The dust fell from the nameplate, leaving letters etched into the brass._

_JENOVA._

_**Mother** , Sephiroth whispered, voice reverent._

_She spoke of belonging, of destiny, promised him that **this time, you will be the one to leave them all behind, you will ascend to a higher glory, you will be mine and they will burn from the fires of our fury**. _

_Sephiroth’s hands were on the tank, his eyes closed. **...they will burn….** Inside, his blood **sang**. _

_He rubbed the dust off of the tank, and for a moment he saw the flash of red eyes, a face carved in cold beauty and shadowed by captive wings --_

_\--- and then it was the face of another, a woman with hair that looked like his, a broken expression of grief on features both familiar and unknown._

_**I’m so sorry** , she cried, and nothing stirred or sang inside of him, but her voice reached into places he had not known were empty. **My son. I’m so sorry.**_

_Behind her, the shadow of the Other rose._

_**She is nothing to you. She is the bitch that bore you, and no more. She was weak. She chose her crystal tomb, leave her to it.** _

_**I dreamed of you,** the woman said. She had soft, sad eyes. **You destroyed the world.** _

_**Even she knows where your destiny lies,** the Other said. Its voice was louder, resonant -- but cold and distant, like a star. _

_The woman’s voice throbbed with pain, with regret. **I’m so sorry, Sephiroth.**_

_**It is not your name she cries in the dark,** the Other said. **She longs for another. Yet it is your name I speak, it is to you I call. Forget her. Come with me and burn.** _

_The two figures blurred together, he could not distinguish one from the other._

_**Stop daydreaming, boy. Pay attention.** Hojo’s voice, sharp and grating as ever. His figure was a vague outline in the shadows._

_**Why didn’t you tell me I had a mother?** Sephiroth asked. _

_**I did. Her name is Jenova.** _

_**Her name is Lucrecia** , said Sephiroth. _

_**Forget that name. There’s a reason I never told you it. She was weak. Your mother is Jenova.** _

_There was something red glowing in the darkness. Hojo’s cigarette. **Why did you never treat me like a son?** _

_**Because, boy. You were something better.** _

_Sephiroth looked back at the tank. Lucrecia’s face was fading beneath the cold beauty of Jenova’s. **She is not my mother.** _

_Lucrecia’s voice, full of grief -- and a name that wasn’t his. **Vincent --**_

_Hojo laughed._

_Jenova smiled his own smile at him. Hell danced in her eyes._

* * * 

Sephiroth awoke with a start, the disconcerting dream fading along with the materia cocktail he’d willingly subjected himself to in order to be transferred out of Midgar. He’d never been particularly good at remembering his dreams, even without magic messing with his mental functions. 

Sitting up, he saw he was in a sparsely-furnished room. There was a set of glass doors opening up to a patio next to the bed, allowing for a pleasant breeze of fresh air. Sephiroth breathed in deeply, the scent of woods and growing things momentarily overcoming his senses. It reminded him of Angeal, who had always liked plants. 

He sat up, ignoring the dizziness and the slight headache, and set about exploring the room in slow, even steps. A set of pocket doors led to a closet, in which clothing was hung on hangers and stacked neatly in the built-in shelving units. They were all monotone in color, simple solids with no patterns or stripes. Most of them were black, grey, or white. ShinRa was determined to keep his color scheme intact, apparently. 

The other set of doors in the room led to a bathroom, which drew a huff of relieved breath from him, and he immediately went to turn on the shower. It was far more luxurious than he was used to, so it took a few moments to figure out the controls. He actually jumped when, after turning a few faucets, more than one shower head began to emit water in a rapid pace. 

When the shower was going full blast and emitting a pleasing amount of steam, he took a look at his reflection in the mirror. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but he looked the same as he always did. A little dirtier, and his hair was a _mess_ , but other than that -- it was him. He’d been called beautiful by more than one person, but that had never made much sense to Sephiroth. 

Genesis, with his flashing eyes and expressive mouth, _he_ was beautiful. Angeal, all uncompromising lines and sharp angles...handsome, perhaps, was a better word. Sephiroth always saw his own features as too abnormal, too _uncommon_ to be beautiful. Memorable because of their strangeness, nothing more. 

Was Lucrecia Crescent beautiful? They had the same mouth, the same cowlick in their hair. He saw more of Hojo’s prominent bone structure in his face the longer he looked at himself, but his most arresting features -- his skin, his eyes, even the color of his hair -- seemed to come from neither of them. Was that Jenova’s imprint? Had his features been twisted by her cells into those that resembled her own? 

Was it _Hojo_ who forced such a transformation upon him? 

Something dark stirred inside of him. The dream played in flashes behind his eyes, a memory he couldn’t quite capture. Hojo’s laugh, his mother’s voice. Jenova, merciless in her suspended state, waiting.

The longer he stared at himself, the more he felt unnerved by his own reflection. It was odd to think he should be nearing thirty-two years of age, that technically ten years had passed since he last saw his own reflection; yet he looked no different now than he had the day he’d gone to find Zack Fair and set off for Nibelheim. 

_Is this what I looked like, when I brought the masamune down into the heart of the last remaining Cetra? Is this what I looked like when I summoned the end of the world? Is this what I looked like when I fought Cloud Strife, suspended in the air over Midgar?_

Sephiroth raked a hand through his hair and winced a little at the tangles. _I hope I was better put together than this._

In the mirror, Sephiroth watched his reflection smile at him. His own mouth did not move. His fingers twitched, reaching for a sword that was not there. 

_You’re imagining things. It’s the materia. Take a shower before your hair turns into knots and you have to ask Cloud Strife to cut it._

Sephiroth turned and walked resolutely into the bedroom, stripping his uniform and putting the pieces away in the back of the closet. He found appropriate clothing and went back in, watching himself in the mirror as it fogged up with steam. His reflection made no other expressions at him without his consent. 

_Imagining things. Materia._

It took him almost an hour to wash his hair, patiently detangling it with a comb. The water stayed remarkably hot, and it was without a doubt the most luxurious shower he’d ever been in. He was used to efficient, military-style showers in the barracks. Even his private apartment had a no-nonsense shower, and while mako meant the the water was always hot, the water pressure occasionally resembled that of a slowly leaking faucet. 

He used to shower at night, when he stayed with Angeal and Gen. They made him, because if he tried to do it in the morning, Genesis would stand by the door and pound on it, saying _hurry up, I promise you’re the prettiest SOLDIER of them all, now can I brush my teeth?_

Sephiroth stayed in the shower a good thirty minutes or so more than he needed to, hands braced against the side of the shower and his head bowed, letting the water massage his muscles from all angles. It seemed as if he’d been somehow disconnected from his body for a long time, and it was the first occurrence where he so keenly felt the years he’d missed. It was very strange. 

When he was finished with his shower, he dressed in a simple, long-sleeved cotton shirt and linen sleep pants, and sat cross-legged on the bed to comb out his hair again. The pulling motion was relaxing, and the remaining tangles came out with ease. It made him feel better immediately, and when he was finished he lay back down on the bed with his hands behind his head, enjoying being clean for the moment. 

The bed was comfortable, and too large, reminding him of one rare weekend he’d spent with Angeal and Genesis in Costa Del Sol on leave. He’d spent most of the time in their room, while Angeal played in the surf and Genesis read some academic treatise on epic poetry -- or rather, pretended to read it, while ogling Angeal and making sure no one tried to hit on him. Or, dragging Sephiroth out and trying to make him go swimming, which was not an activity Sephiroth particularly enjoyed. 

He swam so he didn’t drown, not for fun. Angeal’s simply joy in diving into the surf confounded him. Genesis’s idea of swimming was standing in the pool with a drink, which made more sense than whatever _body surfing_ was. 

It was odd that he was thinking so much about this, about moments shared with people who were gone and should be forgotten. Why now, were these memories surfacing with such frequency? 

_It’s not like you had much time to think about it, before._

Still. They were both dead, and he reminded himself that they’d betrayed him. In the end, they’d chosen each other. Of course they had. He never should have expected them to do anything else. 

Sephiroth closed his eyes and slept.

* * *   
The room was cool when he woke up a few hours later, as night had fallen and brought what sounded like rain with it. He stood up and stretched, then closed the patio door. He was hungry, and there was no point in avoiding the inevitable, likely unpleasant, confrontation that needed to be had. 

The fingers on his left hand twitched. Cloud was probably going to try and kill him the second he saw him, and Sephiroth had what to defend himself with? A comb? A luxury shower? This was absurd. 

Sephiroth left the bedroom, taking note of the other rooms in location to his, the doorways and any window that could be used as a potential exit. He followed the soft glow of light out into a living room, full of comfortable-looking furniture but otherwise empty. He followed the sound of noises until he was in a kitchen.

It was there he found Cloud Strife, making a sandwich at the counter, with a butter knife covered in mustard. 

Cloud went still, and Sephiroth could see the fingers holding the butter knife tightening in regards to his presence. He would absolutely not allow himself to be dispatched by this scowling young man with a kitchen utensil of little threat. No. 

They stared at each other. Sephiroth had no idea what to say, so he erred on the defensive and waited for his opponent to make the first move. 

Cloud seemed to have the same idea, unless his idea of an offensive foray was _glaring_. 

A detente, then. Sephiroth opted for the opening salvo. “Hello, Cloud.” 

Even the innocuously-intended greeting made the man’s bright eyes flash with rage. “Sephiroth.” 

He’d rarely heard his name infused with so much _hate_ before, but logically he couldn’t blame Cloud for his anger. It was still tiresome to be so _loathed_ for things he didn’t recall doing. It ensured this was not to be a pleasant stay. How ironic of Rufus to choose a resort. 

“Did they tell you? All of it?” 

There was no use pretending not to know to what Cloud was referring. “Yes.” 

Cloud’s eyes narrowed into slits. “And?” 

“And, what?” Sephiroth tilted his head. “What is it you want from this conversation, Cloud? Me to apologize?” 

“Are you sorry?” Cloud shook his head, the spikes of his hair as stiff and tense as the man on whose head they rested. 

“I don’t know.” 

Cloud blinked, clearly not expecting the answer, but he went back to looking angry again quickly enough. “You don’t know. All right. So, even if you aren’t lying that you have amnesia, you still aren’t sorry you burned down a village, tried to destroy the world, killed Aerith and came up with some fucking _plague_ that killed a lot of little kids?” 

“I’m saying _I don’t know_ , not _no_. I don’t remember doing those things, Cloud.” 

Every time he said Cloud’s name, the other man flinched like Sephiroth struck him in the side of the head. Possibly it was why he kept doing it. Something about Cloud made Sephiroth feel an uncommonly childish urge to taunt him. 

“So that means you can’t be sorry?” 

Sephiroth counted to ten in Wutainese, like he did whenever anyone was trying his patience. “I am sure if I said that I _was_ sorry, you wouldn’t believe me. If I said I wasn’t, you’d probably try and cut my throat with that blunt knife of yours. Would _you_ apologize for something you had no memory of doing, Cloud?” 

“Probably,” Cloud muttered. “Stop saying my name.” 

“What should I call you?” Sephiroth asked. “Mr. Strife?” 

“Just don’t --” Cloud banged his hand on the counter, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. I’d prefer it if we didn’t have to talk at all, but it doesn’t. Matter.” 

The awkward silence continued. Cloud expelled a breath, seeming to calm down, but when Sephiroth went into the kitchen he brandished the knife again and demanded, “What are you doing?” 

Sephiroth looked at him. He didn’t say anything, because really, wasn’t it obvious? 

“Okay, here’s a house rule, answer me when I fucking ask you questions.” 

“I thought you’d prefer it if we didn’t speak.” 

Cloud’s face was shuttered, but his cheeks were flushed and his breathing was too fast. “What I would prefer has nothing to do with anything.” 

Sephiroth held his hands up. “I was going to have dinner. Given the tone of our interactions, I wasn’t about to ask you to make me a sandwich.” 

Cloud slammed the knife down and picked up his plate. He marched around Sephiroth to leave the kitchen, going backwards at one point in an attempt not to turn his back on Sephiroth. 

Oh, honestly. “When we...had our duels to the death, Cloud, did I at any point attack you without warning?” 

“Huh?” 

Sephiroth opened the fridge, scanning the contents for something to eat. He frowned. There was fruit, but no vegetables that he could see, and the only protein source seemed to be cheese. “I said, did I attack you without warning?” 

“Not really. You kind of have a thing for dramatic gestures, first.” 

“Really?” Sephiroth blinked, straightening and holding some fruit and a block of cheese. He pushed his hair out of the way and moved to the counter, finding the knife Cloud had used and washing it in the sink. “That seems more like someone else I know. Knew.” He lowered his head, drying the knife and raising it to show Cloud. “I’m using this to slice some cheese on a plate. Not to carve your heart out.” 

“I don’t know why you think this is funny,” Cloud growled, standing on the other side of the counter. 

“Who said I think it’s funny?” Sephiroth set about making himself something eat, slicing the cheese and arranging on a plate, along with an apple and some crackers he found in the pantry. Cloud was staring at him, but he looked more incredulous than angry. “What?” 

“You’re not -- this isn’t -- don’t you understand how much I -- you _almost killed everyone on the planet_ and you’re eating cheese and crackers.” 

Sephiroth looked at his makeshift dinner and shrugged. “I couldn’t find any tofu, and I need some protein. You should have a protein, a fat and a carbohydrate at every meal to ensure adequate nutritional intake.” 

“Okay.” Cloud sounded like he was choking on something. Sephiroth looked up to make sure it wasn’t his sandwich. Cloud wasn’t eating, though, he was just standing there. Staring. 

Sephiroth stared back and ate a piece of cheese. He uncapped the water bottle and took a drink. 

“Tofu? Ew.” Cloud wrinkled his nose. It was the first gesture he’d made that didn’t stem from anger. “There’s turkey in there.” It wasn’t an offer, but it was as close as Sephiroth figured he was going to get. 

“I don’t eat meat. Perhaps whoever is in charge of the provisions would include tofu in the next delivery.” 

“The person who….that would be me,” Cloud informed him. “What do you think this is? A resort? You don’t get to make fucking requests.” 

“I thought it _was_ a resort,” Sephiroth said. “Maybe you don’t think it is because your shower isn’t as nice as mine.” He took a vicious bite of the apple he was holding, and was suddenly struck by a very vivid sensory memory at the taste of it. 

_Someone pressing him back against the counter, someone whose mouth was hot on his own, someone who tasted like apples and who pulled his hair ---_

Sephiroth shut down that train of thought immediately. Thinking about making out with Genesis was not going to help his situation. He ignored Cloud and finished his meal, washed and dried his plate and the knife he’d used before returning them to their proper place. He held the water bottle up and said, “Is there some separate container for recyclables?” 

Cloud’s answer was to turn on his heel and walk out of the room. A few moments later, Sephiroth heard a door slam. 

He filled the water bottle up from the tap, and put it in the fridge. No sense wasting it. 

Sephiroth didn’t see Cloud for the rest of the evening, and it occurred to him that he could, very likely, walk out of the front door and disappear. But he wanted to figure out what happened, _why_ he couldn’t remember the things he’d done, and what had motivated him to do them in the first place. And Cloud Strife seemed to be the key to understanding it, for whatever reason. 

Besides. Leaving now would make Cloud way too happy.


	7. The Never-Ending Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cloud realizes he's come to expect certain things from his arch-enemy, and doesn't quite know what to do when he doesn't get them.

**Chapter Seven: The Never-Ending Why**

The thing was, Cloud had come to expect certain things when it came to facing his arch-nemesis. 

Sephiroth would show up, greet him in a vaguely infuriating and yet oddly polite fashion, give some sort of insane monologue full of dramatic turns-of phrase and gestures, and then shift elegantly into a fighting stance, raising the masamune over his shoulder and fixing Cloud with those cold, reptilian eyes of his. 

Cloud, for his part, would stand there staring at Sephiroth during said monologue, thinking _fuck, this again? Really?_ and trying to calm his racing heart, to make himself stop thinking about how badly that fucking sword hurt when it sliced through his skin and impaled him. Instead, he’d think about Zack and Aeris and what it meant to be brave, about his friends who took up arms and threw themselves headlong into battle beside him, and how he would rather die than let this man take anything else away from him. 

Sephiroth would smirk, Cloud would scowl, and things would fall to pieces while they tried to kill each other. Cloud would win (or whatever it was called when neither of you died but one of you disappeared), but not without a toll on his mind and his body; and after Sephiroth vanished back to wherever it was he slept, Cloud would try and put the pieces of himself back together again, would try and pretend he wasn’t a man made up of a thousand different cracks and bits and pieces of other people. 

After the incident on the ShinRa Tower, on Advent Day, Cloud had been half-convinced that it hadn’t really been Sephiroth he was fighting, but some dark, inner part of himself. The part that was still so _angry_ at what had happened, the part that felt he was never going to live up to his promise to Zack, that all he was good for was fighting the same battle, over and over again…. 

But whether or not that was true, the battle -- metaphorical or not -- had followed the usual script. It was brutal and terrifying, yes, but at least Cloud knew what to expect. There was no fucking script in the world for Sephiroth showing up in pajamas and eating a plate of cheese and crackers. 

The disconnect between the nightmarish figure who’d so long haunted him, and the tall, quiet man who was a vegetarian concerned with proper nutrition was making Cloud feel like he was going insane. 

Sephiroth was always awake when Cloud left his room in the morning, and apparently went to bed _earlier_ than Cloud, which seemed the exact opposite of what one’s evil nemesis should do. Shouldn’t Sephiroth stay up all night, dreaming up evil schemes against the Planet? Instead, he rose early, exercised, ate meals and went to bed at around the same time each day. It finally occurred to Cloud that he was following a military schedule. 

_But he’s not. He’s not a SOLDIER anymore. There_ is _no SOLDIER, anymore._

For the most part, they ignored each other as much as possible; exchanging only the minimum amount of words necessary to communicate, and only when hand gestures or vague grunts weren’t enough. 

Just when Cloud stopped having a near heart-attack every time he saw Sephiroth in his peripheral vision, just when he’d started to accustom himself to seeing the man in the kitchen fixing himself a meal, the script changed _again_. 

It happened when Cloud woke up in the middle of the night, thanks to hearing a strange noise (he slept at odd intervals, and always lightly; enough that a breeze against the window could rouse him), and an investigation revealed Sephiroth in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge. 

It was dark in the kitchen, the only light emanating from the appliance. Sephiroth turned and saw him there, and held up a bottle of water without comment. 

He went through a lot of water, Cloud noticed. In the morning, he drank something from a mug that Cloud thought must be tea. 

_Tea. Jenova’s Calamity, Gaia’s Scorned Son, Destroyer of Worlds...drinks hot tea._

“You’re up late,” Cloud said, unsure why he wasn’t simply turning on his heel and going to another room, which was what he usually did when he found himself in the same place as Sephiroth. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Sephiroth answered. “I feel like I’m waiting for a mission that’s never going to come.” 

Cloud leaned against the wall and watched him. “And I feel like l’m waiting for a battle that’s going to come when I least expect it.” 

They stared at each other. Whenever their paths happened to cross in the house, Sephiroth appeared completely indifferent to Cloud’s presence. But at the moment he was regarding Cloud almost warily, and Cloud wondered if the indifference was simply an act that Sephiroth did not have the energy to uphold at the moment. 

He seemed tired, in a way that Cloud understood; the kind of tired that ran in your veins, that went bone-deep and didn’t ever let go. 

_He’s never looked tired, before. He’s never sighed, or rubbed his temples, or rolled his neck like he’s doing right now. He never even blinked, before. Not once._

Sephiroth had never looked quite as _human_ as he did in that moment, and Cloud had no idea what to do about it. He also looked so much younger out of that uniform, which had Cloud wondering just how old Sephiroth even _was_. 

Before he could stop himself, he asked. “How old _are_ you?” 

Sephiroth paused in the midst of raising the bottle of water to his mouth. “Twenty-five.”

That he’d answered the question at all stole Cloud’s breath for a moment Twenty-five? _Twenty-five_? Somehow, Sephiroth had always been ageless, caught in that moment when Cloud first met him, first _killed_ him. To have an age meant he was once younger, was once a child. 

Was once innocent. 

Was once _human._

“I--” Cloud shook his head, taking a step back towards the shadows in the hallway. 

“Wait,” Sephiroth said, slowly. “Cloud, I want to know what happened --” 

“You _do_ know,” Cloud interrupted, harshly. “You know exactly what happened. If you need the details, you can read the files again.” 

Sephiroth closed the refrigerator door, plunging the kitchen into darkness. Cloud’s eyes adjusted quickly, but the first thing he saw was Sephiroth’s eyes -- those strange eyes with their soft mako glow, their slitted pupils. They always looked vaguely reptilian to Cloud, what with Sephiroth’s tendency not to blink, but they reminded Cloud in that moment of a cat. 

“I would like to read them again, yes, but I -- you were there, Cloud. I want you to tell me, I want to hear it from _you_. You hate me, and I know that. But I -- I want to know _why_.” 

Hearing Sephiroth’s voice, seeing his eyes in the dark and just a hint of that cold, beautiful face -- it reminded Cloud too much of the man he’d killed in Nibelheim, the man who’d laughed as Aeris died, the man who smiled at him while impaling him on the end of his sword, just to watch him writhe in agony. 

“You, what, want me to fucking _relive_ it? Want to hear it from _me_? No. Fuck you, no, you don’t -- you don’t get my suffering, not anymore.” Cloud was so angry he was trembling. “I already gave it to you once, that’s enough, why isn’t it even _enough_ for you!”

“Cloud--” 

If he’d had his weapon at the moment, Cloud was certain he would have drawn it. He didn’t want to think about why he didn’t have it, why he’d left his room unarmed for the first time since they’d brought Sephiroth here. 

Why he’d thought Sephiroth’s face was _beautiful_. 

This man might have been human, once. Now he was just a monster, fucking with Cloud’s head. 

“Stay. Away. From. Me,” Cloud hissed, and turned towards the darkness of the hallway. All he wanted to do was go back to his room, go outside on the balcony and look up at the stars, the stars that were still _there_ , because of Aeris’s bravery and his friends, and _him_ , goddamn it, all of them, they were the ones who saved the world from this man who’d wanted to end it all. 

“You never ran away from me before, Cloud,” Sephiroth called after him, making Cloud nearly stumble in his anger. “Not when I wanted to kill you, not when I was _trying_ to kill you. So why are you doing it now?” 

_Because I don’t want you to be telling the truth. I don’t want to tell you what you did and hear you apologize and mean it. I’ve never been fucking afraid of you when I knew what and who you were, but I don’t know any of that now, and it’s fucking terrifying._

“I’m tired of playing games, Sephiroth. Killing you doesn’t work, so maybe ignoring you will.” 

“It doesn’t appear to, so far.” 

Cloud stopped, turning around slowly and half-expecting to see Sephiroth right _there_ , grinning maniacally down at him and…

 _What? Getting ready to beat you to death with a plastic water bottle?_

Cloud sighed, and reached out to flip on the light in the hallway. He blinked as the sudden brightness hurt his eyes. Sephiroth was standing at the end of the hallway, his legs apart, arms clasped behind his back in a military at-ease stance. 

Cloud let out a breath, slowly. “Fine. You want to know? I’ll tell you.” 

Sephiroth didn’t move from his at-ease stance. “Would you prefer to do this in the morning?” 

“It is morning,” said Cloud. “And now’s as good as ever.” Might as well get it over with. 

Sephiroth nodded, then turned to go back in the kitchen. Cloud followed, then stopped and glared at him. “What are you doing?” 

Sephiroth was rummaging in the cabinet. “I wanted some tea. Would you like some?” 

Cloud shook his head, momentarily struck speechless as Sephiroth, Destroyer of Worlds, put a tea kettle on the stove. 

* * *  
It took, all in all, less time than Cloud thought it would. 

About four hours, allowing for brief moments where he had to get up and walk away, or where he just couldn’t talk anymore and had to sit quietly and gather his thoughts. 

Sephiroth sat across from him in the living room. At first he asked the occasional question or made a comment, but at Cloud’s increasingly hostile glares, he gradually stopped and listened in silence. 

The sun rising when Cloud finally finished. He got up and left Sephiroth sitting in the chair, and went to the kitchen to get himself a bottle of water. When he came back, Sephiroth was out on the deck, watching the sunrise. 

Cloud, drained but feeling oddly bereft of anger, went outside to join him. They both stood there in silence as dawn splashed color onto a grey sky. 

Sephiroth turned to him, his eyes searching Cloud’s. “I remembered why I knew your name.” 

Cloud tensed, fingers twitching. He didn’t know what to think. “Why’s that?” 

“Because I asked the guardsman at the door on my way out, after that mission briefing where we first...met.” 

“Why?” The words tasted brittle, like dust in his mouth. 

“I was going to give you a demerit.” 

Of all the things Cloud expected Sephiroth to say, that was definitely not one of them. “Huh?” 

Sephiroth’s jaw was tight as he looked out towards the sky. “You weren’t wearing a helmet, and I thought it was disrespectful. I asked your name so that when we re-assembled for the mission, I could dismiss you in front of the others and make a point about proper protocol. I wanted to teach you a lesson.” 

“Oh,” Cloud said, also staring straight ahead. “You wanted to. Teach me a...lesson.” 

Unbelievably, his lips twitched. The laugh felt like someone reaching down into his soul and pulling, yanking it out of him, but there was no way he could stop it. The sound was loud enough to scatter the birds in the trees, a cacophony of angry twittering mixed with Cloud’s hysterical laughter. 

“Lesson learned, _sir_ ,” Cloud gasped, tears leaking from his eyes. His sides hurt, and when he couldn’t breathe at all, he knew he wasn’t laughing anymore. 

Sephiroth was staring at him like Cloud had lost his mind. It wasn’t helping the situation at all, but when Sephiroth asked him, “Strife, should I get you a paper bag?”, Cloud was able to wave his hand and concentrate on drawing a few deep breaths in and out.

“Why didn’t you?” he asked, when he could speak again. “For the love of Odin, Sephiroth, _why didn’t you_?” 

Sephiroth crossed his arms. He looked incredibly reluctant to answer. “Zack, of course. When I told him that’s what I was going to do, he talked me out of it. He said it was his fault you weren’t in proper uniform, because you were in the hallway when he recruited you for the mission. That Nibelheim was your hometown, and that you hadn’t been home for years so I should --” He stopped, abruptly. 

“You might as well just tell me,” Cloud managed, wiping at his eyes. His hand was shaking. Tiredness dragged like weights at his eyes, which felt swollen and dry. 

“That I should have a heart.” Sephiroth looked down, hiding behind his hair. Cloud took an instinctive step away from him, anticipating a creepy smile. But Sephiroth just stood there, hair in his face, before raising his chin again. He looked exhausted, circles under his eyes. Cloud wondered if he’d been sleeping. 

His eyes met Cloud’s, and that voice, always so calm and faintly mocking, just sounded confused when he finally spoke. “Why was it you? Of all the people in the world I would have ever wanted to hurt...why _you_?” 

“I don’t know,” Cloud answered, leaning against the rail of the wooden deck. “I don’t _know_.” 

If Sephiroth had apologized for any of it, Cloud was certain he would have lost what remained of his composure. But he didn’t, he simply stood there and watched the sky lighten to blue. 

Sephiroth left a few moments later, stopping briefly at the door. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, very quietly. “I’ll leave you alone.” 

Cloud heard the door close as Sephiroth went inside. He didn’t turn around. 

* * * 

Tseng called later that afternoon. After Cloud gave the updated supply order, he asked the same question he did every time they spoke. 

“Do you think he’s lying?” 

“Yes,” Cloud said, like always. 

Only this time, it felt like a lie.


	8. Ask for Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sephiroth devises a plan, and enlists the help of an unwilling ally.

**Chapter 8: Ask for Answers**

He was standing in the bathroom, staring in the mirror. There were flames behind his reflection, bright and blinding, but Sephiroth felt no heat or fire at his back. 

His reflection was saying something to him, a single word. 

“Soon.” 

* * * 

Sephiroth woke up with a start. He was standing in the bathroom, which meant he must have sleepwalked, something he hadn’t done since he was a child. He was also looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, which was disorienting. 

It took him a moment or two to even out his breathing. His heart was racing, the adrenaline spike making him buzz like a livewire. His fingers tightened briefly on the cold tile of the countertop. 

He stared warily in the mirror for a few moments, half-expecting to see flames, but there was nothing behind his reflection but darkness. 

Blinking, he yawned and saw his reflection do the same. _Just a dream, then._

He lifted his hand and waved at the mirror with his left hand, then turned and went back to bed. He’d just settled in when he realized his reflection had waved back, but with _its_ left hand. 

That was not how mirrors worked. 

_What is happening to me? Am I going crazy?_

Sephiroth lay in the dark and replayed Cloud Strife’s words in his mind, trying to remember something, anything, from the images they evoked. They did not feel like memories. It was like gazing at a painting when what he wanted was photographs. 

Because he knew, he _knew_ , the key to all of this was buried somewhere in his past. 

He’d inherited his father’s sociopathic tendencies and his mother’s penchant for emotional breakdowns, and the mako and Jenova cells only amplified those traits. He’d been killing people since he was barely a teenager, the only constant presence in his life was a father who isolated him from others and treated him like an experiment, and he’d been abandoned by the only two people who had ever cared about him. 

Sephiroth had thought himself immune to the same deterioration that afflicted Genesis and Angeal, but clearly, that was incorrect. It was Sephiroth’s mind that was afflicted, instead of his body. 

What other reason was there, for finding an alien fragment in a tank and thinking it was his mother? Had Hojo manipulated him that much, and if so, had he intended for his son to go mad and try to end the world? Or did he just want to see how powerful Sephiroth could become, if he united himself with the being whose cells he carried? 

_Would he have told me Jenova was my mother if Lucrecia hadn’t left him?_

Even if Hojo were still alive, Sephiroth very much doubted he could trust him to answer Sephiroth’s questions honestly. And he was not sure it was a particularly good idea to inquire after his father’s files and research notes -- at least, not until he managed to convince Rufus Shinra that he wasn’t lying about his memory loss. 

And to convince Rufus, he had to convince Cloud Strife. Sephiroth didn’t think that was going to happen, and he supposed he could understand Cloud’s reluctance given their history and Sephiroth’s own behavior. 

Of far greater concern at the moment, however, was the incident with his reflection. If he were seeing things again, did that mean the whole thing was going to start over? Was he going to lose his mind, deteriorate until he knew nothing but rage and bloodlust? Would he lose ten more years of his life to whatever madness was waiting to take him? 

_No. No. I’ll end it myself before it comes to that._

And if there wasn’t a way to stop the deterioration, if his mind was corrupted to the point where he thought himself perfectly sane while trying to summon meteors and call down armageddon….

At least he knew there was one person in the world who could stop him. 

* * *

Sephiroth spent the next few days catching up on missed sleep and trying to reason out a plan for monitoring his sanity. 

When he had a working idea of what he wanted to do, he made careful notes, checked them over several times, and then went in search of Cloud. 

He wasn’t in the house, and his bedroom door was ajar and the light off, suggesting he wasn’t in there, either. Sephiroth knocked and called his name, but received no response. Had he left, then? It _had_ been several days since they’d seen each other, maybe after their late-night discussion Cloud decided he’d had enough. 

Sephiroth finally found him outside, working on his motorcycle. He was dressed in a white shirt and jeans, a black bandana pushed up on his forehead, and his clothes were stained and covered in oil. 

He gave Sephiroth a flat stare, shielding his eyes from the sun. “What is it?” 

_I’ve decided to torch the house._ Sephiroth kept his voice even as he answered. “I would like to speak with you for a moment, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

“I’m busy.” 

Sephiroth resisted the urge to roll his eyes. While he understood Cloud’s resentment, it didn’t make it any less irritating. “Perhaps when you’ve finished.” 

Cloud stared at him some more. He finally shrugged. “I guess. Yeah. Okay.” 

_And this is the man I am counting on to destroy me, if I go insane._ When Cloud acted like a petulant teenager, that thought was less comforting than it had been. 

A few hours later, Sephiroth was making himself dinner when Cloud appeared in the kitchen. He was a mess, oil and grease and sweat smeared over his clothes and streaked in his fair hair. But there was a notable lack of his usual tension in his shoulders and his expression, and Sephiroth supposed that whatever he’d been doing with his motorcycle had been more for relaxation than any necessary maintenance. 

“I need some water.” 

The urge to make Cloud say _please_ was nearly overwhelming. Sephiroth reminded himself he was trying to gain this man’s cooperation, and pushing Cloud’s buttons would only make things difficult.

 _If only his buttons weren’t emblazoned in flashing lights and staring me in the face all the time._

Without comment, Sephiroth opened the fridge, took a bottle of water, and tossed it to him. Cloud caught it deftly, opened the cap and drank the whole thing, thirstily. 

Sephiroth watched him for a moment, something unwelcome stirring at the sight of Cloud’s head tipped back, the way his throat worked as he swallowed. 

Cloud finished the bottle, and saw Sephiroth looking at him. His bright eyes narrowed. “What?” 

“Do you want another one?” 

Cloud looked as if he didn’t believe for a minute that’s what Sephiroth was concerned about, but Sephiroth kept his gaze even and locked on Cloud’s, waiting for him to answer. Eventually, Cloud nodded and Sephiroth threw him another bottle of water. 

Cloud drank it as thirstily as the first. “Thanks,” he said, gruffly, without looking Sephiroth in the eyes. He raked a hand through his spiked hair, dragging more grime through the strands as he did so. Sephiroth would hate that, and he was half tempted ask Cloud how he could stand it. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, instead. 

Cloud threw the bottles of water away, and walked out of the kitchen without another word. Sephiroth waited until he heard Cloud’s bedroom door close, and then he sighed and took both plastic bottles out of the trash.

Sephiroth threw them in the correct receptacle for the recycling, convinced Cloud threw them in the wrong one just to be annoying. He went back to his dinner of stir-fried tofu and vegetables, firmly ignoring the mental image of Cloud washing himself in the shower as he heard the water start rushing through the pipes. 

Losing his mind and ten years of his life didn’t make his tastes any less predictable, apparently. Why his type was _combative people who don’t seem to like me very much_ was yet another mystery -- and this one, he thought, was probably best left unsolved. 

* * * 

Cloud came back when Sephiroth was finishing with dinner. He offered some to Cloud, who made a face at the vegetables and opted for yet another sandwich and an energy drink. 

“Those aren’t very good for you,” Sephiroth told him. 

Cloud snorted. “If _you_ haven’t killed me yet, then I don’t think the occasional Black Choboco is going to be a problem.” 

“You drink at least three of those a day,” Sephiroth pointed out. 

“Why do you know that?” Cloud asked him, side-eying him as he popped open the can. “That’s creepy.” 

“You throw the cans in the wrong receptacle,” Sephiroth told him, sighing. “I thought you did that on purpose.” 

“No, but is it annoying? If so, I’ll make sure to keep doing it.” 

“Very mature, Cloud.” 

Cloud smiled at him. It wasn’t genuine by any means, but it wasn’t his usual expression of glowering anger, either. It was challenging and a little smug, which reminded Sephiroth again of Genesis. “My entire purpose in life does seem to be ruining your day.” 

Sephiroth rolled his eyes. “Apparently.” 

Cloud took his plate to the kitchen table and ate his dinner, and Sephiroth found a piece of paper and a pen, jotting a list down while he waited for Cloud to finish. Every so often, he could feel Cloud’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look up and neither of them spoke. 

The silence wasn’t as uncomfortable as usual. Sephiroth wrote the last item on his list and took another bottle of water out of the fridge. 

“What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” Cloud asked, finally, breaking the silence. 

Sephiroth shifted easily into a military at-ease stance, facing Cloud as if he were about to deliver a situation report or a mission briefing. “I’ve come to a conclusion about the most logical reason for my loss of mental control.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Cloud leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Sephiroth noticed that Cloud was barefoot. “Well, what is it?” 

Even though he wanted to explain this to Cloud, Sephiroth had to fight back the urge to make Cloud say _please_ , again. “When Angeal and Genesis fell victim to their degeneration, I thought myself immune because I didn’t suffer similar physical symptoms.” 

Sephiroth took a moment to gather his thoughts, then continued. “And while that was technically correct, it overlooks the accompanying _mental_ deterioration that afflicted both Genesis and Angeal, as well. And from that, apparently, I was _not_ immune. The symptoms are very similar; Genesis finds out about his condition and returns to his hometown, Banora, and destroys it. Angeal forces his student and his protege, Zack, to kill him. And I did much the same, when my own origins were explained to me.” 

Sephiroth’s brow furrowed a bit as he thought about that. “I’m simply not sure what other explanation would account for my behavior. It’s not as if I didn’t know I was ShinRa’s version of a biological weapon, they never made it a secret and I was treated accordingly. As for thinking an alien was my mother --” Sephiroth made a face. “I was under a great deal of stress at the time, but I simply can’t imagine how that would have _broken_ me to the extent that it did. Which leads me to assume that something caused the breakdown of my mental faculties.” 

Cloud was watching him, his face unreadable. “Why do you think there has to be something other than being raised like a lab rat, and the fact your parents were both batshit insane?” 

Sephiroth stared at him. “You certainly don’t think very much of me.” 

“I did. Once.” Cloud pushed himself away from the wall, and tugged at one of the still-drying spikes in his hair. “I used to think there was a reason people did the things they did, but then I spent four years in Hojo’s tanks, and people like Aerith and Zack died while you’re still here, trying to figure out why you went crazy and killed them. So, no, I don’t think much of you. If it helps, I don’t think very much of _me_ , either.” 

Sephiroth cleared his throat. “Are you going to sulk, or may I finish what I’ve been trying to tell you? You remind me of Genesis. He would do the same thing, provoke an argument and then get caught up in his own dramatics until I couldn’t tell if he were still mad at me anymore, or just himself.” 

Cloud was giving him a weird look. “For the record, I’m probably always mad at you.” 

“Yes, of course. Since you’re obviously convinced that I’m nothing but a psychotic murderer with mommy issues, allow me to sum up the rest of this conversation. I am, as much as it irritates me to even say this, not saying you don’t have a point in suggesting the only thing that made me behave the way I did was _me_...but there are similarities, Cloud, even _you_ can’t deny that.” 

Cloud leaned back against the wall again. “Oh, try me.” 

Sephiroth expelled a breath and counted to ten in his head. “I want to understand what happened to me. If it is nothing more than my genetics, fine, I’ll accept it. If it is merely hubris on my part that makes me think something else triggered my behavior, if I’m making connections between situations that don’t exist...then I’ll have to concede that, yes, Cloud, the reason I lost my mind is because I’m as _batshit insane_ as my parents.” 

Cloud gave a jerky nod. “Fine. So, you think, what? Jenova cells made you crazy?” 

“I don’t know, Cloud,” Sephiroth said, very slowly. “I’m trying to find out.” 

“You don’t have any idea how gratifying it is to watch you get annoyed,” Cloud informed him. “You never … when we would fight. You never even _blinked_ , Sephiroth. And you’ve rolled your eyes like, three times already. You also look like you want to pull your hair out.” 

“That’s because I do, in fact, want to do that. And please do not take this as a threat to your life and limb, Strife, but I also want to strangle you for making this conversation so unnecessarily complicated and exhausting.” 

Cloud grinned at him. There was enough amusement in it that he looked like an entirely different person. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Sephiroth,” he said, and the laugh that accompanied it was strained, but warm in a way Cloud never was, giving Sephiroth hints of the man he was when he wasn’t locked in an empty resort with his arch-enemy. 

_The man he might have been, if not for me._

Sephiroth tilted his head, immediately, and hid behind the fall of his hair. Guilt was not an emotion with which he was familiar. 

“Now who’s brooding?” Cloud raised both of his eyebrows. “So, what am I supposed to do? ‘Cause you want me to do something, huh.” 

_Yes_. Sephiroth ignored the slow rush of warmth at the thought of things he wanted Cloud to do. He took the list he’d made, and handed to it Cloud. He put his hands behind his back again, settling his features into a mask of impassivity. “There are some things I believe necessary to both monitor my behavior and, though it’s only a hypothesis, keep my mind from deteriorating again.” 

Cloud read the list, out loud, each item after the other. “Files relating to Project G, Project A, and Project S.” He snorted. “Original names.” 

“Yes, well, Hojo was forever whining about how Hollander lacked creativity,” Sephiroth muttered. 

Scowling, Cloud continued reading. “Books and articles relating to the physics of flight?” 

Sephiroth cleared his throat. “I’m not...the mechanics behind the ability to fly with one wing, I don’t understand it.” 

Cloud didn’t look at him. “A chess board, crossword puzzles and a treadmill?” 

“I’m bored,” Sephiroth admitted, flatly. “I need some mental stimulation.” His banter with Cloud might be entertaining, but it was also very likely a threat to his physical well-being. 

Even if he was aching for a fight -- not to the death, just for some _exercise_. And he was curious, despite himself, on how Cloud would approach such a thing. He wanted to know why this angry young man was apparently the only one who could defeat him. “You, at least, have a motorcycle to occupy your time.” 

“There’s only so many times you can change the oil, though,” Cloud muttered. 

“You were that dirty, and all you were doing was _changing the oil_?” 

“What? Shut up, do you even know how to do that?” Cloud shot him a glare, but before Sephiroth could answer (which, no, he did not, and he would be fine with Cloud showing him, if he didn’t think Cloud would attempt to brain him with a wrench), Cloud fixed him with a wide-eyed, incredulous look and said, “A _gazebo kit_?” 

Feeling a bit embarrassed and annoyed by it, Sephiroth said defensively, “I need something to occupy my brain and give me some sort of physical work. I’m a soldier, Cloud -- or I _was_. I’m not used to idleness. I believe there’s some sort of applicable phrase about the dangers of that.” 

“But where are you going to put a gazebo?” Cloud asked, still apparently shocked by Sephiroth’s request. 

“I suppose figuring that out is part of the challenge,” Sephiroth said, between his teeth. 

Cloud slowly raised his eyes to Sephiroth’s. He stared at him for a very long time, then said, “Why are you a vegetarian?” 

Sephiroth was taken aback, but he answered the question. “Because it’s healthier, it forces you to rely on sources other than meat for protein and that is a valuable skill when you’re sent off to war in a jungle full of plants, and it used to drive Hojo insane trying to compensate adequately for my nutritional needs. Why?” 

Cloud shook his head, slowly, and folded the list. “I -- it doesn’t matter. I’ll give this list to Rufus.” 

“Thank you,” Sephiroth said. He paused. “There’s one more thing.” 

“What?” 

“I am working on the assumption that my past behavior was predicated on what I thought were very...logical assumptions,” Sephiroth said, very carefully. “Not that they _were_ logical in the least, but I must have at least...thought they were. I’ve never been one to act impulsively, and I’ve always preferred to have some sort of plan in place before embarking on any kind of mission.” 

Cloud made a derisive noise at that, but said nothing. 

Sephiroth made himself keep talking. “What bothers me about my loss of mental control is that somehow, it occurred in such a way that I thought I _was_ acting completely rationally. I can’t fathom what happened to make me think that, but when I set my mind on accomplishing something...I can be very difficult to dissuade.” 

Cloud snorted. “Yeah. I noticed. You also still talk too much. What is it you’re trying to say?” 

Sephiroth gave him a level stare. “If I start losing my mind again, I need you to kill me.” 

Cloud didn’t answer for a moment, but then he just shrugged and said, “That’s what I’m here for.” 

Sephiroth nodded. “I didn’t think it would be a problem. I just wanted to make sure we were clear on the matter. And, Cloud?” 

Cloud gave him a wary look. “Yeah?” 

“Next time, please make sure I don’t come back. I don’t want to do this again.” 

Cloud started laughing. It wasn’t the same hysterical laughter as that early morning on the balcony, but it sounded just as painful. “And here I thought we’d never agree on anything.” 

Sephiroth turned to leave, and Cloud surprised him by speaking again. 

“I wanted to be in SOLDIER because of you. I thought you were a hero.” 

Sephiroth closed his eyes briefly, an image of Zack Fair’s bright grin flashing behind them. “There are no heroes in war, Cloud. And even if there were, I wouldn’t have been one of them. All I’ve ever been is a weapon.” 

“So what if that’s all you’ll ever be?” 

Sephiroth had no idea what to say to that. He looked over his shoulder at Cloud, slowly, gratified to see something very much like fear flashing in Cloud’s eyes when his own narrowed. “Then I suppose you’ll have to be a better one.” 

That wasn’t what Cloud was expecting him to say at all, Sephiroth could tell. He turned and started walking towards his room. “Good night, Cloud.” 

Silence followed him down the hallway.


	9. For What It's Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sephiroth gives Cloud chess lessons, tofu, and an existential crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise at some point this story does involve Cloud and Sephiroth doing things other than bantering and being suspicious of each other. Cloud Strife is the most frustrating muse in the world. I love you, Cloud, but you really are.

**Chapter 9: For What it’s Worth**

The following few weeks were the absolute strangest of Cloud Strife’s entire life. 

First, Cloud had to ask _Rufus Shinra_ to somehow find him a build-it-yourself gazebo kit. And then there was the whole part where it was for _Sephiroth_. 

And, as if that wasn’t enough to practically break Cloud’s brain, somehow Sephiroth ended up teaching him how to play chess. 

Rufus had sent the majority of the things on Sephiroth’s list with the next supply run, with the exception of the gazebo kit and some of the materials relating to Hollander’s research, the encryption of which was proving difficult to break. 

Sephiroth had seemed pleased when he saw the things stacked up on the kitchen table, so much so that he’d smiled very briefly. Cloud had never seen Sephiroth smile for any reason other than causing pain or suffering, and once again it struck him how _young_ the man looked. 

In fact, when Sephiroth was like this -- dressed in normal clothes, faultlessly polite and rather soft-spoken -- Cloud was beginning to think he was an entirely different person than the one who’d terrorized him for so long. And that was dangerous, because it wasn’t a different person. 

Even if, Cloud realized, he was beginning to think Sephiroth wasn’t lying about his memory loss. Oh, he still _wanted_ to think Sephiroth was lying, but having the man ask Cloud to kill him and to _make sure I don’t come back_ was wrecking havoc on Cloud’s previous certainty. 

Cloud’s Sephiroth smiled when Cloud screamed in agony on the end of his sword. This one smiled when someone brought him books and a chess set. This wasn’t Cloud’s Sephiroth. This was Zack’s Sephiroth. 

_You’re not the Sephiroth I’ve known!_

The gazebo kit, though. That was just _weird_ , no matter which Sephiroth it happened to be for. 

Cloud could easily understand that Sephiroth was bored, as he himself was itching with the desire to _go_ somewhere, and riding Fenrir up and down the roads around Healen Resort wasn’t cutting it. As he became less certain in his insistence that Sephiroth was lying, his wanderlust grew considerably stronger. 

The tension between the two of them was still there, and it wasn’t just on Cloud’s end of things, either. But their interactions had improved from outright hostility to quiet civility, and Cloud had to admit it was better than being so tense and on-edge all the time.

Cloud no longer grimaced when he heard Sephiroth’s voice, or flinched when he came upon the other man unexpectedly. It still threw him for a moment to find him doing things like cooking or drinking tea, but he was starting to get over that, too. 

Tensions eased ever more when they started eating dinner together. It happened mostly out of coincidence, because Cloud couldn’t help falling into a similar routine when it came to mealtimes (a fact which annoyed him, and caused him to spend a few days in his room, hungry and yet determined not to give in to any sort of subtle conditioning on Sephiroth’s part -- until he found himself hoarding cheese and crackers for a snack and eating them vindictively on his small private balcony, and felt ridiculous) and they’d learned how to share space in the kitchen while still giving each other plenty of room to maneuver. 

Also, Cloud was getting tired of sandwiches. Sephiroth was a much better cook, but everything he ate was sort of boringly healthy and bland. So, Cloud put a few sauces and spices on the next supply order and, when Sephiroth offered him some sauteed vegetables, he accepted them and liberally doused them with lemon pepper seasoning and teriyaki sauce. 

Sephiroth gave him a lecture about too much sodium in his diet, but Cloud ignored him and ate his sauced-up vegetables with a Black Chocobo energy drink. It was a lot better than a turkey sandwich, even if it did take him ten minutes to say _thank you_ to Sephiroth for the food. 

The resort had a small selection of cookbooks, which were all called things like _Living the Natural Way: Delicious and Simple Recipes that Celebrate and Enhance our Bountiful Garden_. Cloud found a recipe that celebrated vegetables by adding spices and a homemade sauce, and left it open on the counter to prove a point. 

“Is this a hint?” Sephiroth asked him, holding up the book. 

Kind of, because it sounded good -- well, it would have sounded good if it included grilled chicken or something besides boring vegetables -- but Cloud just shrugged. “Not really. Just, see, that’s healthy stuff and it’s got some spices.” 

“It’s also not drowning in teriyaki sauce,” Sephiroth pointed out.

“There’s a sauce, though,” Cloud said, unsure why he was having this conversation in the first place. “I saw it. It’s even on the picture.” 

“I assume it’s intended to be made from scratch, not poured from a bottle. The sodium in the bottled brands is intended to increase the product’s shelf life. It’s not necessary for taste.” 

Cloud glanced at him. Sometimes, Sephiroth sounded like a walking encyclopedia. How a man could say that and then tell him he wanted to _sail the darkness of the cosmos_ was beyond him. Maybe there was something to this whole mental degeneration thing, after all. “Make some from scratch, then.” 

“I’m not the one who wants it, though.” Sephiroth smirked over at him. “You are.” 

Annoyed, Cloud threw his hands in the air. “Then don’t. I’m just _showing_ you that it doesn’t have to be boring to be good for you. Try some hot sauce or something. Live a little.” 

Sephiroth gave him an odd look at that. “Live a little.” 

Cloud felt his face heat up. This is why he didn’t like talking to Sephiroth. Even as a forced roommate instead of an archenemy, he was infuriating. “Or not. Look, it doesn’t matter.” 

“You just wanted to prove me wrong about something,” Sephiroth said, and Cloud opened his mouth to vehemently deny that (because, yes, that’s exactly what he’d wanted), but instead -- 

He smiled. Just a little. “Yeah, I guess.” 

Sephiroth made a dish with vegetables, tofu and the lemon pepper seasoning, and homemade garlic sauce. Cloud tried it, even the tofu, and was prepared to hate it -- but it was actually very good, and filling, and he had two helpings of it. Then did the dishes, because that seemed the easiest way to express appreciation without having to say anything. 

It was while doing the dishes that Sephiroth said, “Do you want to play a game of chess, Cloud?” 

While Cloud had gotten somewhat used to eating dinner at the same time as Sephiroth, exchanging words that weren’t trembling with anger and seeing Sephiroth walk around barefoot in cotton pajama pants...it still made his skin crawl whenever Sephiroth said his name. 

“No,” Cloud said, viciously scrubbing at his plate. There weren’t a lot of dishes to do. Sephiroth cleaned up while he was cooking, and before he actually sat down to eat anything. It was annoyingly efficient. 

“Afraid you’ll lose?” 

Cloud made a face and scrubbed harder. “Reached my limit spending time with you, s’all.” 

“So that’s a _yes_.” 

Cloud slammed the plate in the sink and turned around, arms crossed. “No,” he said. “It’s exactly what I said it is.” 

Sephiroth leaned back against the fridge, all lazy grace, relaxed in a way Cloud wasn’t used to at all. He smirked at him, which _was_ familiar, but the lack of a leather coat and a steel blade took away some of its impact. “It’s a game of chess, Cloud, not a fight to the death. Come along, now. I even made you dinner.” 

Cloud’s entire face went red, and it wasn’t just with anger. He refused to admit he was blushing. _Refused_. “I don’t want to!” 

“I can’t play chess by myself,” Sephiroth continued, looking even more amused. 

“Then you should’ve had Rufus send over a deck of cards,” he snapped, turning back to the sink and picking up the scrubber again. “So you could play solitaire. Solitarily.” 

“I think that plate is probably clean, Cloud.” 

Gritting his teeth, Cloud whirled around again, the scrubber held aloft in his hand. “Would you just leave me alone?” 

Sephiroth raised one eyebrow at him. “Or what? You’ll...scrub me?” 

“I’ll dump dishwater in your hair,” Cloud said, scowling, and then Sephiroth laughed. 

It was low, warm, and there wasn’t a hint of vindictiveness or sadistic pleasure in it. Cloud lowered the scrubber, and Sephiroth’s brief smile faded. They both looked at each other in solemn, considering silence for a few moments. 

_I can’t do this. It’s fucking with my head too much. Goddamn it, why do you have to act like a person instead of a monster?_

Cloud took a slow, deep breath. “I don’t know how to play chess,” he said, unsure why he was offering this information. It felt like an admission of weakness, but it was sort of worth it for the look of horrified shock he received in return for making it. 

“You don’t know how to play chess,” Sephiroth stated. “I’ve been vanquished twice --” 

“Three times,” Cloud corrected, helpfully. 

“-- _three_ times, by a man who can’t play chess?” 

Cloud smiled at him, feeling a lot more cheerful all of a sudden at how _disgruntled_ Sephiroth looked by that admission. “Looks like it.” 

“That’s unacceptable. I’ve not seen you fight, so I assuming you’re somewhat proficient if you managed to overtake me, but if you don’t know how to play chess I’m going to assume it was more dumb luck than skill.” 

“It wasn’t a game of chess, Sephiroth, it was a battle.” 

“Yes, thank you, Cloud,” Sephiroth said, annoyed. Cloud should have been worried about making him mad, maybe, but instead it was sort of gratifying. Even entertaining. “But both of these things require strategic thinking, and chess is a way of both learning and practicing that without bloodying someone.” 

“That’s ironic, coming from you.” 

“That’s really not what _irony_ means, Cloud.” 

“I’m starting to see why you didn’t have very many friends, even before you went crazy,” said Cloud. 

Sephiroth didn’t look particularly bothered. “You’re not the first person who’s said that.” He pointed towards the door. “Go to the living room. We’re playing chess.” 

“What -- no! Stop ordering me around, Sephiroth, this isn’t the army and you don’t make the rules here, remember?” 

“Fine.” Sephiroth gave him a sly look. “We’ll negotiate. What are your terms, Strife?” 

Cloud considered it for a moment. “I’ll play chess with you, but only after dinner. That you have to make.” He pointed the scrubber at Sephiroth. “And you have to put chicken in mine, not just tofu. And spices. And I’m putting sauces on it, you can make them if you want but if not, you can’t lecture me about sodium intake.” Cloud cleared his throat. “Or about my Black Chocobo drinks.” 

“I’ll be the very picture of restraint,” Sephiroth assured him. “And I don’t like teriyaki, but I do like orange-ginger sauce. If that’s acceptable as a replacement, of course.” 

“Who doesn’t like teriyaki sauce?” Cloud asked, blinking. “That’s … I’ve never heard anyone say that.” 

“I had too much of it, in Wutai,” Sephiroth said, shrugging. “Do we have a deal or not, Cloud?” 

Cloud nodded. “We do.” Without thinking, he held out his hand. When he realized he’d just invited his nemesis to touch him, he nearly snatched it back -- but he wasn’t about to show any kind of fear, so he just raised his chin and waited for Sephiroth to do something. 

Sephiroth took a step forward and reached out, slowly, as if he were giving Cloud time to change his mind. Cloud’s heart was beating unpleasantly fast. The only thing Sephiroth had ever touched him with was his masamune. Cloud half-expected Sephiroth’s skin to be as cold as his blade -- either that, or scaldingly hot like the pain it always caused. 

It was neither. Sephiroth’s hand was as warm as anyone else’s as it closed around Cloud’s. They shook very quickly, and Cloud snatched his hand back. Somehow, he still felt like he’d been burned. 

* * * 

The chess lessons went better than Cloud expected. Sephiroth was a surprisingly good teacher, even if he tended to over-explain things and use way more words than strictly necessary to make a point. 

“You just have to tell me that my bishop can’t move that way, not why the piece was called that in the first place,” Cloud said, exasperated with Sephiroth’s forced history lesson. 

“Understanding the complexities of the game is part of learning it,” Sephiroth said, twirling one of the pieces in his long fingers. “And your bishop can’t move that way, Cloud.” 

Cloud huffed a breath and tried another move. “This game is stupid.” At Sephiroth’s sigh, he glared hotly. “What now?” 

“Bishops can’t move that way, either.” Sephiroth said, moving Cloud’s piece back to where it was originally. “I’d explain why, but apparently you already know everything.” 

Annoyed by the (probably valid) chastisement, Cloud picked up one of his pieces and reached over, knocking Sephiroth’s king off the board onto the floor. “I win!” He wiggled the piece in his fingers at Sephiroth. “Now you’re going to tell me it’s impossible for a pawn to take out the king, huh.” 

“No. It’s not impossible,” Sephiroth said, his eyes meeting Cloud’s. “It’s just not very likely.” He reached down and picked up his king, placing it back on the board. “Clearly, I’m going to have to explain all of this again.” 

Cloud groaned. “No matter what, you always find a way to torture me.” 

“Then you should anticipate it better. Listen, Cloud.” Sephiroth went through the explanation again, and Cloud paid attention because he had, actually, always wanted to learn how to play chess. 

Cloud attempted daring, bold and obvious moves at first, which Sepihroth counteracted easily. It took a few games before Cloud refined his strategy, and stopped losing in less than ten minutes flat. 

He still _lost_ , though. Sephiroth was very good at chess. It made Cloud wonder if it really _was_ dumb luck that made him win all those battles of theirs. 

Cloud wouldn’t go so far as to admit he was looking forward to his nightly chess game with Sephiroth, but he didn’t hate it. Plus, it meant Sephiroth cooked dinner and Cloud could stop eating so many turkey sandwiches. 

Sephiroth also started making enough that they sometimes had leftovers for lunch the next day. 

“What, are you going to use that to bribe me into playing some other game? _Yahtzee_?” Cloud asked, when he noticed the carefully stacked containers of both vegetables, meat, tofu and sauce in the fridge after dinner. 

“What’s that?” Sephiroth asked him, head tilted. “I’ve never heard of it.” 

Sometimes, Sephiroth acted as if he really _were_ the child of an alien. His upbringing, Cloud pieced together, was so strict it hardly allowed for leisure activities. Cloud was certain he didn’t learn chess just for fun -- especially since he’d mentioned _Hojo_ was the one who taught him. 

“It’s a dice game,” Cloud explained. “You have to get combinations of numbers and things, before the other players do.” Or, you timed yourself and how long it took you to get the combinations, then tried to do it faster the next time. Cloud didn’t have very many friends growing up, either. 

“Oh. I’ve never played that, but I have played the one where you make words out of tiles.” 

“ _Scrabble_?” At Sephiroth’s nod, Cloud blinked in surprise. “You played Scrabble with Hojo?” 

“No, with Genesis and Angeal. Genesis always gets angry when I win because of letter combinations and double-word score blocks, instead of showing off an impressive vocabulary. Which is the only way he thinks you should be allowed to win.” Sephiroth snorted. “Somehow Angeal always ends up with tiles comprised entirely of consonants.” 

Cloud realized Sephiroth was speaking in the present tense, about the same time Sephiroth himself did. He tilted his head, hiding briefly behind the fall of his hair and saying, “Ended up with,” he corrected himself, so quietly that Cloud could barely hear him. 

Without another word, he brushed past Cloud and walked out of the room.

As Cloud watched him go, he realized with a start that he believed Sephiroth was telling the truth about his memory loss. 

And it scared the hell out of him. 

_Checkmate._


	10. come undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sephiroth learns that in order to build something correctly, sometimes you have to tear down what came before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll go ahead and admit right now that I've never built a gazebo in my entire life, and am highly unlikely to do so. Ever. I do, however, offer some Seph/Cloud makeouts in this chapter as a way to distract you from any inaccuracies. :D?
> 
> Also thank you so much to everyone who is reading the story, leaving kudos and comments, or just enjoying it at all. I really appreciate it, what a nice fandom this is <3

**Chapter 10: Come Undone**

Reno brought the gazebo kit via helicopter. Sephiroth and Cloud both reacted to the noise like they were going to have to fight something deadly with a lot of teeth, and went to draw their weapons. 

Or rather, Cloud drew his weapon. Sephiroth grabbed the first thing he could find, which was a kitchen broom. 

Cloud gave him a pointed look. “Is that for you to sweep up whatever’s left when I’m done kicking ass?” 

Sephiroth spun the broom around like a shinai -- he’d been trained in Kendo, and was very good at it. The gesture did lose some impact when debris came out of the bristles, though. 

“You know how I like to keep things clean,” he said, just as Reno’s voice came crashing through the resort. 

“Hey! Where d’you want all this stuff, anyway?” Reno appeared in the doorway, all sly eyes and improbably bright hair. “Also, hey, Sephiroth -- boss says they’ve got one of these kits to build your own swimming pool, too, when you’re done with the gazebo. Says to tell you thanks, for helping up the resale value on the property.”

Sephiroth put the broom down and pointed to the living room. “You can put it all in there.” 

“Sure.” Reno nodded at Cloud. “Heya, Cloudy. Your energy drinks are in the kitchen. Put them on the table with that chess book you wanted.” 

Cloud cleared his throat. “Thanks, Reno.” 

“No problem. It was fun flyin’ the bird up here. You should request more large, heavy-type items so I can do it again. Boss always vetoes helicopter flights when it’s just for groceries.” 

“I’m glad to see Rufus is keeping a rein on the company’s expenditures,” Sephiroth said, watching as Cloud quietly ducked out of the room. 

“That, and we don’t have any other helicopters left.” Reno laughed, and then went to help Rude carry in all of the boxes. 

When they’d finally finished carrying everything inside, Rude cleared his throat and said, “Maybe we should’ve just left all this outside.” 

Sephiroth closed his eyes briefly, wondering how much of his once-fearsome reputation was being ruined by the events of the last twenty minutes. _Once I brought a country to its knees, now I’m waving brooms around and failing at home improvement projects._ “It’s fine. Now I’ll be able to organize it.” 

“Well it’s already organized for you,” Reno pointed out. “That’s why all these boxes have numbers on them. That’s the point of a kit, yo.” 

Sephiroth studied the blueprints with rapt attention, and pointedly ignored both Turks until they got the hint and left him alone. He expelled a breath of relief as he heard the _whir_ of the helicopter as it took to the sky. 

His moment of peace was short-lived, as Cloud came in a few moments later. “That’s a lot of stuff,” he said, surveying the piles of materials.

“Yes.” Sephiroth flipped a page in the blueprints.

“Gazebos go outside, though.” 

Sephiroth flipped a page again, this time with a little more vigor. “Yes, thank you, Cloud. Unless you want to help me carry these boxes to the patio, I believe there’s a remedial chess strategy book and some terrible energy drinks waiting for you in the kitchen.” 

“It’s an _intermediate_ chess strategy book, Sephiroth.” 

Sephiroth raised his eyebrows and glanced at him over the blueprints. “Someone thinks rather highly of their skills.” 

“And someone thinks they can build a gazebo in the living room,” Cloud said, walking over to the stack of boxes and leaning down to pick one up. “Besides. You get to skip over the beginner level stuff when you’re playing chess against your arch-nemesis.”

“Is that so?” Sephiroth tucked the blueprints beneath his arm and went to pick up a box, following Cloud outside. 

“Yeah. I read it somewhere. Do you even know what you’re doing?” Cloud put the box down, turning towards Sephiroth with his hands on his hips. “Because I think you don’t.” 

Sephiroth set his box down, too, and then went to retrieve another one from the living room. “There are instructions, Cloud.” 

“Huh.” Cloud picked up another box. “Do they say that step one is _put everything for your outdoor gazebo inside your living room?_ ” 

“No, nor do they say that step two is _procure the assistance of your mouthy, unhelpful, supposed arch-nemesis_.” 

“ _Supposed_ arch-nemesis? Seriously?” Cloud carried the second box out to the deck. “Just ‘cause you don’t remember doesn’t mean you get to demote me.” 

Sephiroth stared hard at Cloud’s back, watching him as he leaned over to set the box down. “I thought you didn’t believe me.” 

Cloud didn’t turn around for a few moments, but when he did, his gaze was shuttered. He shrugged. “You’re still _you_. It doesn’t really change anything.” 

It did, though. And they both knew it. 

Sephiroth didn’t say anything, simply turned his attention to the remaining boxes that needed to be moved outside. Neither of them spoke until they were all present and accounted for, and then Sephiroth said, quietly, “Thank you, Cloud.” 

Whether the expression of gratitude was for the help with the boxes or for believing him, Sephiroth wasn’t sure. Cloud looked uncomfortable either way, nodding slightly before leaving Sephiroth alone. 

* * * 

Building the gazebo was a godsend as far as keeping him busy, involving calculations and measurements, planning and organizing as well as physical activity. Sephiroth spent most of the day outside until the sun went down, and then went inside, showered, had dinner and soundly beat Cloud at chess. 

Cloud wasn’t friendly by any means, but he occasionally spoke to Sephiroth without venom lacing his every word. He’d even laughed once or twice. He was still moody, intense, and stubborn to a fault, but if his last relationship was any indication, that was apparently Sephiroth’s type. 

He was rather glad there was only one of Cloud, though. Genesis always said Sephiroth was a masochist, but even Sephiroth didn’t think he was _that_ much of one. 

Sephiroth admitted part of his fascination with Cloud was not knowing how this unassuming young man managed to defeat him in battle. He’d seen Cloud’s weapon, and he admitted to a swordsman’s fascination with the removable blades, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to ask for a demonstration. 

Plus, what was he going to spar with? A broom? 

Cloud occasionally came outside while Sephiroth was working on the gazebo, usually to offer unsolicited advice or to hint that it was getting close to dinnertime, and shouldn’t Sephiroth be thinking about making something disgustingly healthy involving vegetables? 

One afternoon, Sephiroth looked up from the mass of wood that was slowly becoming a base for the gazebo and saw Cloud standing there, silently, holding out a bottle of water. The look on his face vacillated between confused and determined. 

Sephiroth stood up, took the bottle and nodded his thanks. He had no idea what precipitated the small act of kindness, and he rather doubted Cloud did, either. 

A week or so into the project, something went awry. Sephiroth wasn’t sure what it was, and no amount of staring at the blueprints was providing him with the answer. All he knew was the sections weren’t fitting as they should, and while it galled him to have to ask Cloud for help, what he needed was a second set of eyes to help suss out the problem. 

Sephiroth went inside and found Cloud sitting at the kitchen table, one of those energy drinks of his opened next to him. He was reading the chess book and scowling at it. 

“Yeah?” 

“The gazebo and I have arrived at a bit of an impasse,” Sephiroth said, by way of greeting. 

Cloud’s lips twitched. “You’re so dramatic.” He stood up and stretched. “You need my help or something?” 

“I would like your _opinion_ ,” Sephiroth corrected him. He was annoyed, both that he’d asked Cloud for his assistance and that he was noticing how Cloud’s muscles shifted beneath his t-shirt.

“So, that’s a _yes_.” Cloud followed him outside, swearing softly at the brightness of the afternoon sun. “Fuck, it’s hot out here.” 

“Behold,” Sephiroth intoned, waving a hand at the gazebo. “The impasse.” 

Cloud was staring at him strangely. Sephiroth’s lips pressed together in annoyance. “What?” His mistake wasn’t that obvious, was it? 

“You look different.” 

Sephiroth waited, but no further wisdom was forthcoming. “You have a very irritating habit of not finishing your sentences,” he told Cloud. 

“You have a very irritating habit of not staying dead,” Cloud shot back, but he’d turned his attention to the gazebo. “Lemme see the blueprints.” 

Sephiroth handed them over, and when he felt a breeze on the back of his neck, he realized what it was that Cloud meant when he said he looked different. Sephiroth had, due to the heat of the day, pulled his hair back into a ponytail while working and forgotten about it. 

His hand shot up and he went to tug out the elastic, but he changed his mind and left it alone. It seemed too obvious to take it down now. 

Cloud handed him the blueprints back. “I think you just reversed this section,” he said, pointing. “You’ve got the interior on the exterior. That’s why the next section isn’t fitting right, see? You’ll have to take it all down and flip it around, but that’s all.” 

Sephiroth forgot his rising temper in the face of such a simple explanation. “I didn’t know that was possible. Should it have indicated there was a right way and a wrong way on the blueprints?” 

“Maybe they did,” Cloud said. He looked at the blueprints again. “This is like reading Wutainese or something.” 

“How did you figure that out, if you can’t read the blueprints?” 

Cloud pointed to the diagram. “It’s just...see that part, in the next section? I think that’s supposed to be a bench or something to sit on. It has to connect to the part you just built, meaning these things here are supports for it, and those should be on the inside. Because you sit _inside_ the gazebo.” 

Sephiroth looked at the blueprints and sighed, finally seeing his mistake when he focused on the plan overall instead of the specifics of the section in which he was working. He nodded to show he understood, then said, “If you would concentrate on the board instead of a single move when you played chess, you wouldn’t have to read that book.” 

“Thanks for making this about my sucking at chess, instead of you sucking at building things.” Cloud handed him a hammer. “You’ll have to take all that down, but if you’re careful, you can just build it back the right way instead of having to start over from scratch.” 

“All right.” Sephiroth said, taking the hammer and approaching the wood with a grim, determined face. 

“You want some help?” Cloud asked, and it sounded so grudging that it made Sephiroth feel better about accepting his offer. 

“If you want,” he said, not looking at him. 

The two of them worked in companionable silence, dismantling the thing Sephiroth had built slowly, piece by piece, in order to put it back together again. 

* * *  
A few days later in the shower, Sephiroth noticed his hand moving slowly up and down his cock. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he wondered why it had taken him this long. It was somewhat disconcerting to think he hadn’t even considered availing himself of such a simple, pleasurable form of release, considering the tension and stress of the last few weeks. 

Once again, he was thrown at how disconnected he felt from his own body. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the shower tile and tipped his head back, hand moving faster and his breath catching. At one point, he wrapped strands of his hair around his wrist, enough times so that it caught and pulled as he jerked himself faster. He gave a low moan, the sound amplified by the tile of the shower and making him worry, briefly, that Cloud would hear him. 

Cloud. 

Sephiroth’s eyes closed again. He’d never been particularly good at games of fantasy and role-playing in bed, that had always been Genesis’s area of expertise. Such things usually left him feeling more awkward than aroused, but in this case, he didn’t require an overly-elaborate scenario full of details. It was perhaps a bit strange that his fantasy involved fighting Cloud, but it certainly didn’t end with one or the other of them dying.  
It ended with Cloud beneath him, fingers tangled in Sephiroth’s hair while he moaned and writhed -- and staring up at him with that challenging stare, the one that said _I’m on my back for you, but only because you earned it._

It didn’t take very long before he came, quietly gasping for breath and leaning against the tiled wall of the shower for support. It left him feeling very good, drowsy and relaxed -- at least, until he realized his wing had manifested and was becoming completely sodden beneath the spray from the multiple showerheads. 

Sephiroth pressed his forehead to the tile and sighed. He turned off the shower and attempted to shake the water out of his feathers, but it didn’t work. The bathroom wasn’t large enough to accommodate his wingspan ( _I’ll be leaving that in my review of your resort, Rufus,_ ) and when he tried to rustle it, it knocked into things and made a racket. 

Sephiroth knew better than to try and retract his wing while wet, as having done so before caused a good deal of pain and a trip to see Hojo. Luckily, it was warm outside.

Sephiroth dragged a comb through his hair, pulled on a pair of pajama pants and went out onto the small balcony adjoining his bedroom. He launched himself into the air, intending only to fly long enough to dry the feathers. But it was very relaxing, flying, and the exhilaration of feeling _free_ , even knowing he had to go back eventually, was almost intoxicating.

Sephiroth hadn’t realized how long he’d been gone until he approached the house, and saw a very angry Cloud Strife standing on his balcony. Sephiroth landed in front of him, wing spread out, waiting for Cloud to express his obvious displeasure. 

“What the hell were you doing?” 

“Drying off,” Sephiroth said, wing fluttering behind him. It definitely felt dry, though now he had some leaves and twigs caught up in his feathers. 

“Why?” 

Sephiroth crossed his arms over his chest. “I would think that was obvious.” 

“You know what towels are, right?” 

Sephiroth sighed. “They’re not as convenient for drying off feathers, Cloud.” 

“Why was your wing wet in the first place?” 

_You don’t want to know._ “As you know, I’ve been studying the physics of my wing and I suppose I wasn’t thinking about where I was, when it manifested.” There, that was close enough to the truth, wasn’t it? “I didn’t intend to be gone for more than a few moments, Cloud. I apologize for not letting you know I was leaving.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Cloud muttered, stepping aside and jerking his head towards the door. “Can we just go inside?” 

Sephiroth, feeling a bit out of sorts at being treated like he’d come home late for curfew, moved past Cloud and maybe, _maybe_ , knocked him a bit on the side of the head with his wing. Lightly. 

A few of his feathers fluttered to the floor as he did so. 

“Are you molting?” Cloud asked him, closing the patio door behind him. “Because I think you’re molting.” 

“I am not molting,” Sephiroth snapped, flapping his wing just to see. A few more feathers were dislodged, but no more than normal. “This is just what happens.” 

“You have some leaves stuck in, ah. In there. In your feathers.” Cloud made a noise. “I can’t fucking believe my life, sometimes.” 

_Try having a wing thrust out of your back when you come in the shower,_ Sephiroth thought. He gently rustled his feathers, trying to dislodge the leaves. He was the same way about his wing as he was about his hair, so he tried again, though standing shirtless in pajama pants and flapping his wing in front of the man he’d just gotten off thinking about -- it felt a bit like that incident with the broom, earlier. 

Ridiculous. 

“They’re still there,” Cloud said, then sighed. “Here.” 

Before Sephiroth could tell him not to, Cloud moved closer and reached his hand out, and started preening his feathers.

It had the same effect as having his hair pulled, only it was more arousing than relaxing. When Cloud’s fingers skirted against the joint and the bone, Sephiroth caught the noise he made behind his teeth, trying not to pull away. 

“Oh. Did that hurt?” Cloud asked, giving him a weird look. 

Sephiroth almost laughed. “No,” he said, though he doubted Cloud would believe him, with his voice as strangled as it was. 

“You sure?” Cloud asked, and made his touch lighter. It felt teasing in a way Sephiroth was certain Cloud did not intend. 

“Yes,” Sephiroth said, flaring his wing a little, as if trying to discourage him from continuing. “It’s fine. You can stop.” 

“It it didn’t hurt, then why do you want me to stop?” Cloud asked him, fingers running through the feathers like Sephiroth was an unruly chocobo he was trying to gentle. 

Sephiroth reached out and grabbed Cloud’s wrist in his fingers, stilling his movements. “Because it feels _good_ , Cloud. And given the choice, I think you’d rather cause me pain than pleasure.” 

Cloud was staring at him with wide, bright eyes. He was so close, Sephiroth could feel the warmth of his body heat even though the only places they were touching were his fingers on Cloud’s wrist, and Cloud’s on his wing. 

_How long has it been since anyone touched me?_

“I’d rather not cause anyone pain,” Cloud said, not moving his hand away. “Even you.”

Sephiroth tried to push Cloud’s hand away. “Leave it. I’ll attend to it myself.” 

Cloud’s face settled into a familiar stubborn expression. His fingers curled into the feathers. “I’m not going to stop just because it _doesn’t_ hurt.” 

“Why not?” Sephiroth asked him, eyes searching Cloud’s. “It’s not just that it doesn’t hurt, Cloud, it’s that what you’re doing _feels very good_. After everything I’ve done to you, how can you want me to do anything but suffer?” 

“Because I’m not like that,” Cloud said, simply. He tugged against Sephiroth’s hold on his wrist. “Let go.” 

Sephiroth stared at him, wary and mistrustful, but he supposed if Cloud was determined to prove some point or another, he should probably comply. He owed him at least that much, didn’t he? Slowly, he uncurled his fingers from around Cloud’s wrist. 

The room was quiet. Cloud’s fingers combed through his feathers, skirted the edge of bone and muscle, and Sephiroth wondered if perhaps Cloud was trying to torture him with pleasure instead of pain. Eventually, unable to keep how good it felt from showing on his face, Sephiroth tilted his head to hide behind the fall of his hair. 

Cloud’s fingers stilled momentarily. “Why’re you hiding your face like that? Were you lying about it not hurting?”

“No,” Sephiroth said, struggling to keep his voice even. “Forget it, Cloud.” 

Cloud’s bright eyes narrowed, and he tugged a little harder at the feathers. Sephiroth had to stop himself from shuddering in pleasure. “You don’t want me to see that you like it?” 

“No.” 

“But why?” Cloud demanded. “Is it the same reason why you won’t wear your hair back when you’re outside, anymore? Can’t stand for me to see you _actually feel something_ , like a fucking human being?” One of his hands dropped away from Sephiroth’s wing, but before Sephiroth could answer him or say anything at all to that -- 

Cloud reached up and tugged, briefly but firmly, at his hair. 

Sephiroth moved in a whirl, wing flaring as he grabbed Cloud’s hands by the wrists again and spun them around, shoving him back, hard, against the wall. 

“Sephiroth --”

“No,” Sephiroth hissed at him, slamming Cloud’s arms against the wall. “Do you want to know why I don’t want you to put your hands on me? Fine. I’ll show you.” 

Sephiroth lowered his head and kissed him. It was a hard, rough, punishing kiss, and he fully expected Cloud to shove him away, to attack, to do anything but _kiss him back_ \-- which was exactly what Cloud was doing. 

He made a sound against Sephiroth’s mouth, angry like a growl, but he was kissing back with the same intensity, the same fervor. Sephiroth could feel Cloud against him, all tense, lean muscles vibrating with coiled energy. 

“This,” Sephiroth muttered against his mouth, “This is what I don’t want you to see.” 

Cloud yanked hard at Sephiroth’s hold on his wrists, and Sephiroth let him go. Cloud grabbed Sephiroth’s hair again, but this wasn’t a gentle tug like before. He had a handful of it and he _pulled_ , hard enough to yank Sephiroth’s head back and away from him, hard enough to tear a low moan from Sephiroth’s throat when he did it. 

Instead of speaking, Cloud’s other hand went around the back of Sephiroth’s neck, using it to pull him down and kiss him again. Sephiroth felt him bite his lower lip, hard, between his teeth. He opened his mouth, and Cloud made a noise and kissed him hotly. 

Sephiroth knew if he didn’t stop this, and soon, he was going to fuck Cloud right there against the wall. But he didn’t want to stop, it felt so _good_ \-- better than having his wings preened, better than having his hair pulled, better than touching himself in the shower. He pressed up against Cloud, aroused and feeling dangerously close to losing control -- 

_Maybe that’s what he wants. Maybe he wants you to try it, so he can have the reason he needs to kill you._

Sephiroth tore his mouth away from Cloud’s, taking a few steps backwards. When he saw Cloud leaning against the wall, staring at him with wide eyes, his mouth parted and face flushed...he almost didn’t care if it was a trap, he wanted it anyway. He put more distance between the two of them, tense and uncertain.

“I -- I can’t --” Cloud reached up and touched his mouth, blinking like he had no idea what had just happened. He looked so young in that moment, like the infantryman he must have been before Sephiroth and ShinRa did their best to break him. 

Sephiroth turned away. His blood ran cold at the thought of what he’d just done, what sort of progress he’d ruined by acting on impulse instead of logic. That was the sort of thing he’d expect from his insane alter-ego, and the implications of that made him sick to his stomach. “Get out of here, Cloud.” 

“Sephiroth --” Whatever he was going to say, Cloud must have thought better of it, because all he did was sigh, softly, and then Sephiroth heard him leave the room and close the door quietly behind him. 

When he was gone, Sephiroth curled his wing protectively around himself for comfort. He hadn’t done that since the first night he spent in Rufus’s cell, locked in the darkness amidst the crumbling ruins of the only home he’d ever known, without any clue as to what had happened or how he’d gotten there. 

Sephiroth turned his face into the down of his feathers, breathing in the familiar scent and trying to calm his restlessness. 

Outside, an engine roared. Sephiroth listened to the sound of Cloud’s motorcycle as it faded off into the distance, and wondered if he would come back.


	11. Taste in Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cloud has a few late-night revelations, a mid-morning pun battle, and an evening showing off his scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, my apologies for the delay! I was out of town for a bit, and this chapter is very long! A lot of things happen (a lot of which is Cloud Strife internally angsting, which I would apologize for, but then again it's _Cloud Strife_ , so...), and Cloud is very stubborn about going to bed with Sephiroth -- again, because it's Cloud Strife, and he's stubborn about everything :| 
> 
> All the titles of these chapters are from Placebo songs, and I almost -- almost -- named this one "Swallow" :||| 
> 
> I didn't, but. It was a close thing.

**Chapter Eleven: Taste in Men**

Cloud drove fifteen miles in a daze, taking sharp turns at breakneck speeds and flying down the winding roads before finally regaining some sense of self-preservation and pulling over. He switched off the engine and stood in the humid, warm night, the air heavy as if heralding an impending storm, and tried to wrap his brain around what had just happened. 

The first thing he couldn’t quite figure out was why he’d been so insistent upon preening Sephiroth’s _wing_ , for fuck’s sake -- because Cloud could admit that if he hadn’t done that, Sephiroth never would have touched him at all. Cloud was usually loathe to invade other people’s personal space, even when they made it clear they didn’t mind. Intimacy of that kind had never come very easily to him. 

The other thing he didn’t understand was why Sephiroth had stopped, especially when it had to have been obvious that Cloud was enjoying what they were doing. And that look Sephiroth had given him, when he’d pulled away...it was the first time, in all their various altercations, that Cloud had ever seen him look afraid. 

Cloud had seem him angry, smug, coldly triumphant and even, say, _unpleasantly surprised_ , but afraid? Never. If anything, he tended to underestimate Cloud too much to be afraid of him. 

_Unless we’re making out, apparently._

That Cloud had enjoyed it, or that it had happened all, didn’t surprise Cloud as much as it maybe should have. It was hard to deny they had a powerful attraction to each other, buried beneath all the rage and violence and bloodshed. Why else would they gravitate towards each other as they did? Take away the mistrust and pain of their past, and the attraction was still there. It just needed some other outlet, and sex was the obvious choice, wasn’t it? 

Cloud might have been rationalizing his behavior, but it was more his style to tear himself apart rather than find some reason _not_ to feel guilty about something. 

The thing was, he no longer thought of Sephiroth -- this Sephiroth, the man who built gazebos and cooked dinner and chewed on the end of his pen when he did crossword puzzles -- as the cold, grim angel of death Cloud had fought and killed three times over. And he knew he had to be careful, because Sephiroth _was_ still the man who torched his hometown in the fire of his uncontrollable fury -- but now, a tiny voice in Cloud’s mind reminded him _he torched villages in Wutai, and everyone called him a hero. Even you._

Sephiroth’s words to him a few nights ago, _there are no heroes in war, Cloud,_ rang truer than he wanted them to. The more your enemy was dehumanized, the easier it was to justify killing them. ShinRa dehumanized Sephiroth so much so that it couldn’t really be that much of a surprise, could it, when Sephiroth turned around and did the same thing to himself? 

Cloud stared up at the sky, watching the clouds gather and drown out the moon. He needed someone to tell him how to make this okay, how to keep it all from happening again -- but there was no one there to tell him that. Not Aerith, not Zack, not the Planet. And maybe that was the point. 

Maybe the only voice that could guide him out of the dark was his own, and it was time to start listening to it. 

There was a rumble of thunder in the distance as Cloud pulled his goggles back on and revved up his engine, getting ready to outrun the storm on his way back to Healen. 

He barely made it back when the sky opened up. He put the bike in the garage and went back outside to the driveway, arms wide, and stood for a moment in the rain. 

Not to be healed, not to be blessed, but just because it felt good. 

Sephiroth wasn’t the only one who’d lost touch with his humanity. As he went inside the house, Cloud decided all he could really do was try and make sure it didn’t happen again -- to either of them. 

Right after he turned off the air conditioning, because _Odin’s balls_ , he was freezing. Four years in Hojo’s tanks, and he couldn’t have given Cloud a nice, warm wing to curl up in? Fucking asshole. 

* * *   
Despite any epiphanies that happened during the night, in the morning, Cloud was still Cloud. And he had no idea how to go out and tell Sephiroth _I don’t want you to act like you’re not human, and I think I want you, but I have to be able to still kill you if you go crazy again._

So instead, Cloud angsted about what to say while he tried -- and failed -- to make himself breakfast, settling instead for a bowl of sugary cereal. 

_Sephiroth, Calamity’s Child, builds a gazebo while Cloud Strife, Gaia’s Champion, eats Chocopuffs because he can’t make himself an omelet._

Cloud went outside with a bottle of water, still unsure what to say, but fuck it. He’d never had a battle plan when he faced off with Sephiroth before, not really, so why should he start now? 

“I’m still gonna kill you,” Cloud told him, when Sephiroth noticed his arrival and fixed those strange, reptilian eyes of his on Cloud’s. 

“Back to this, again, are we,” Sephiroth said, sighing. 

Cloud tossed him a bottle of water, which Sephiroth caught easily. “I meant. If I need to. I’m still gonna be okay to do that.” 

Sephiroth opened his bottle of water and drank it, his eyes still on Cloud’s. “Thank you for the reminder, Cloud.” 

“You’re welcome, Sephiroth.” 

They stared at each other again. Cloud cleared his throat. “You’re almost, uh. Done with that. The gazebo, I mean.” 

“I think so.” Sephiroth turned and looked over his shoulder. “I’m not quite sure what the purpose of this structure is.” 

“To sit in. And, um. Have some shade?” 

“There’s already a porch,” Sephiroth said, as if Cloud were very stupid not to have noticed that. 

“You’re the one that wanted to build a gazebo,” Cloud reminded him. 

“I wanted a _project_ ,” Sephiroth corrected. “I had no idea people wasted their time with such frivolous nonsense. A strong storm would knock this over, it’s not very sturdy.” 

“You should have gone for the swimming pool,” Cloud said. “Then we could have at least cooled off.” 

“That would have been too easy,” Sephiroth said, very seriously, probably not realizing Cloud was joking because neither of them were very good at that. “The only thing that takes a significant amount of time is waiting for it to fill up with water.” 

Cloud nodded. He had no idea what else to say. 

Neither did Sephiroth, who finished the water and handed the bottle back, with a reminder to _please put that in with the recycling, Cloud._

It was hard to believe this was the same man who had grabbed Cloud and kissed him just the night before. Cloud was just about to go inside when Sephiroth said, “Since you’re here, would you please come and hold this beam so I can hammer it?” 

“Sure.” Cloud followed him into the gazebo, noticing it was very fancy, with a lot of intricate latticework. He made a face. “If I had to pick a gazebo style for you, this wouldn’t be it.” 

“No?” Sephiroth stood beside him, showing him where to hold the beam and moving a few steps away to hammer it. “What would it be?” he asked, and the words sounded strange, like he was biting them out between clenched teeth. 

Which he was, Cloud realized, because he had a nail between his teeth while he lined up the wood. That was - huh. “Uh. Dunno. More…” he waved a hand. “Simple.” He smiled a little despite himself. “Taller, maybe.” 

Sephiroth turned and looked at him, but didn’t say anything. He took the nail out of his teeth and lined it up. “Hold that steady, please.” 

Cloud did, which was good, because Sephiroth hammered it like he was trying to pulverize the wood instead of secure it. “Geez. They make this for people _without_ mako-enhancements, you know. Don’t gotta hit it quite that hard.” 

“Your opinion was not requested, Cloud.” 

“Comes with my assistance. Free of charge.” 

“Lucky me.” Sephiroth squinted at the beam. “Hmm. This isn’t quite right.” 

Cloud watched him measure something, not sure what was wrong as it seemed fine to him. Sephiroth was a little obsessive. The thought almost made him laugh out loud. 

“This is probably the most boring thing we’ve ever done,” Cloud told him. “The two of us.” He thought about last night again and flushed, hoping if Sephiroth noticed, he would just think Cloud was sweaty. Not that he wanted to look like holding up a plank of wood wore him out. Damn it. 

“My apologies for the lack of a thrilling encounter.” Sephiroth had the nail between his teeth again, barely paying attention to Cloud. 

Irrationally annoyed at being ignored, Cloud said, “They can’t all be _nail biters_ ,” and waited to see if Sephiroth caught his -- admittedly lame -- pun. 

Sephiroth pressed the nail against the wooden surface and turned to look at him. Without cracking a smile, he said, “That would have been funny, if your delivery wasn’t so wooden.” 

“ _Planks_ for the advice,” Cloud responded, just as seriously. 

Sephiroth nodded. “You’re welcome. Next time, don’t screw it up.” 

Cloud thought for a few seconds, but nothing was coming to him. “Damn it.” 

“Victory at last,” Sephiroth said, and Cloud saw him give a very small smile before he started hammering. When he was finished, he stepped back, observed his work, and nodded. He turned towards Cloud. “Thank you.” 

Cloud noticed a few things simultaneously; one, except for his distinctive bangs framing his face, the rest of Sephiroth’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Two, he was damp with sweat, his fair skin flushed with either sun or heat, and three...he had a pale smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. 

“What is it?” Sephiroth asked, eyes narrowing slightly. 

Cloud looked up at him. “Why did you stop?” 

“Because the beam was secure.” 

Despite the fact Sephiroth’s expression didn’t change, Cloud had a feeling he was deliberately misunderstanding him. “No. I mean. Last night.” 

Sephiroth’s lashes veiled his eyes for a moment, but he didn’t avoid the question. “Because I would rather you kill me for actually being insane, not because I have unfortunate taste in men.” 

Cloud’s eyebrows went up to his hairline. “Unfortunate taste in men? _Unfortunate taste in men?_ ” 

Sephiroth crossed his arms obstinately. “You don’t think being attracted to the man who’s killed you three times is unfortunate?” 

“You deserved it, though.” 

“Is that supposed to make it better?” 

Cloud shrugged. “No? I don’t know.”  
They were standing very close together again. Sephiroth was so warm, Cloud could feel the man’s body heat burning through the thin fabric of his cotton shirt. There was very little breeze, and the air in the gazebo was stifling -- 

The gazebo. Fuck. Cloud took a step back. He was not making out with Sephiroth in a _gazebo_ at ten in the morning. No. “I, um. I’m not gonna try and kill you if you...try that. Again.” 

“Try what, again?” 

Cloud glared, waving a hand. “You know.” 

Sephiroth gave him an infuriating smirk. “Maybe I want to hear you say it.” 

“You’ll be waiting a long time,” Cloud muttered. “I’m not any good at talking.” 

“I noticed.” 

“Oh, like you’re that much better?” Cloud demanded, hotly. 

Sephiroth was suddenly right _there_ , pushing him back against the half-wall of the gazebo, lowering his head until his mouth was very close to Cloud’s ear. “You’re saying that you’re not going to try and kill me for putting my hands on you, and the reason you’re telling me is because you want me to do it again. Is that right, Cloud?” 

Cloud couldn’t hide his sudden shiver. “You want it, too,” he said, cranky despite the heat burning slowly through his blood. 

“Yes.” Sephiroth’s voice was lazily amused, warm in a way Cloud had never heard it before. “I want it, too.” 

Cloud closed his eyes briefly, then reached up and grabbed at the mass of silver gathered in Sephiroth’s ponytail. He remembered the noise Sephiroth made, last night, when Cloud had pulled his hair. He tangled his fingers in the strands and tugged -- more of a tease than anything, but he wanted to see if that got a similar response. 

Sephiroth made a very attractive sound, and Cloud almost forgot his self-imposed _no kissing in the gazebo_ rule. Their eyes met, and Cloud was struck for a moment by Sephiroth’s pupils, wide and dilated, by the soft mako glow in his eyes. 

As a young, impressionable ShinRa recruit, Cloud had thought of Sephiroth as a shining, beautiful thing to be admired from afar -- like a star in the night sky. Even as an adversary, his features cold and terrifyingly inhuman, twisted as they were by hate and madness -- he’d still been beautiful. 

But it was nothing compared to the Sephiroth Cloud was seeing right now, with his pale, damp hair clinging to his flushed face, impossibly high cheekbones and that slight smirk on his full mouth…

“This is going to end badly,” Cloud told him, very seriously. 

“Hmm,” Sephiroth said, and bit, very gently, at the edge of Cloud’s ear. 

* * *   
Just because the tension between them had more to do with sex than violence (for the time being), it didn’t make Sephiroth any easier to be around. Cloud was just as skittish as before, if not more so, and Cloud was pretty sure Sephiroth noticed. 

“You’re enjoying this,” Cloud accused him after dinner, when he’d nearly jumped a foot in the air at feeling the other man suddenly behind him. Sephiroth was putting a dish away, in a cabinet right over Cloud’s head. 

Sephiroth hadn’t even bothered to lie. “More than a little,” he admitted. 

Cloud washed the sink out and wiped it clean with a towel six or seven times, reminding himself that he’d faced Sephiroth at the height of his insanity and never backed down, despite being fucking terrified. He should have no problems whatsoever dealing with Sephiroth when he was just being smug and a little annoying, right? 

He was also very attractive, though, with his hair wet from a shower and slicked back off his face. It threw his sharply angled features into stark relief, accented the exotic slant of his strange eyes. Cloud wondered for the first time how the man was Hojo’s son, as the only physical feature they seemed to share was height. 

_Well, and they both went crazy._ Cloud read the same files Rufus had prepared for Sephiroth, and he almost wondered if Vincent wasn’t Sephiroth’s father, instead. Vincent had been in love with Lucrecia (who was not, Cloud discovered after reading the files, worthy of Vincent’s nearly fiendish devotion and thank the gods for Yuffie for making him realize that), and certainly he was more attractive than Hojo. But the DNA evidence didn’t lie, and it showed quite clearly that Hojo was indeed Sephiroth’s biological father. 

Then again, maybe it was for the best that it wasn’t Vincent. Cloud was already fucked up enough, without being attracted to two men who were _father and son_. Just like with Rufus Shinra, Cloud had never mentioned or acted on his attraction to Vincent Valentine, and he’d been genuinely happy for his brooding, quiet friend when he’d married the loud, cheerful Yuffie.

Which, fuck, was his taste _stubborn, impossible men with daddy issues_? Cloud had never thought too much about his sexual preferences, other than to get angry about why they had to be so fucking complicated. 

Well, there’d been Zack, too -- and that hadn’t been complicated, but when he thought about it, Cloud wasn’t sure if he was attracted to Zack as much as he wanted to _be_ Zack. Given his actions after Zack’s death and how he’d thought he _was_ Zack, had convinced himself he was a Soldier First Class like his friend and mistook so many of Zack’s memories for his own….

Then there had been Aerith, beautiful, lovely Aerith, with her quiet smile and her ageless eyes -- had Cloud been attracted to her, or had it been because of Zack? And Tifa, had he ever looked at her for the person she was instead of what she represented? What the fuck was his problem? 

“You’re glaring at that sink,” Sephiroth said, his voice startling Cloud from his sudden fit of unwelcome self-introspection. “How has it managed to offend you?” 

Cloud was acutely aware of Sephiroth’s presence behind him, close but not too close, as if he were aware Cloud’s mood had taken a downward turn and he was giving Cloud some space. If that were true, Cloud appreciated it. He didn’t want to appreciate anything about Sephiroth. Cloud scowled fiercely down at the sink and then turned around. 

Sephiroth didn’t look too surprised to be the next recipient of Cloud’s glare. He was probably fairly used to it, by now. 

“Is there a problem?” Sephiroth asked, politely. 

“Unfortunate taste in men,” Cloud answered, and despite his mood, his mouth quirked up a bit on the side. He looked down at the towel he was holding, which he was twisting slowly around his hands until it was tight enough to hurt. 

Cloud sighed and tossed it in the sink, leaving the kitchen and going to the living room. Sephiroth didn’t follow him, but Cloud wasn’t sure if that was because Sephiroth was still giving Cloud some space, or if he was going back and cleaning up after Cloud. Because he did that a lot. The man was as obsessive about cleaning as he was everything else. 

Either way, Cloud thought about going to the living room, thought about going to his own room, but decided in the end to go to Sephiroth’s. He wasn’t sure why -- other than the obvious -- and as he waited he prowled around, looking at things. The room was neat, of course, with the bed made (Cloud’s bed had not been made since the first day he’d shown up at Healen and un-made it), a few books on the bedside table, and files and whatever else Sephiroth was working on neatly arranged on the small desk near the window. 

There was a pad of paper and a pen -- with the cap closed, though Cloud noted it was chewed on, and he wondered if Sephiroth was even aware he did that -- on the desk, and Sephiroth’s handwriting, precise and even. 

_Possibility of a trigger implanted to override subject upon learning of origins?_

The word “subject” made Cloud frown. He had a vague memory -- though he didn’t know if it were his own, or Zack’s -- of Sephiroth in the ShinRa Mansion, obsessively pouring through books and trying to learn more about Jenova. 

Uneasily, Cloud wondered if there was some pattern to all of this, and if it was maybe not a good idea to encourage Sephiroth to research his background. Then again, didn’t he have the right to know what happened to him? 

_What if it means he goes crazy and kills everyone again?_

_It means you have to stop him._

The weight of that responsibility, _stop Sephiroth at all costs_ , settled around him like a heavy, dragging weight. He took the pen, uncapped it, and drew a picture of a stick figure standing on a planet, then the gave the stick figure long, flowing hair. Then Cloud drew a circle around it and drew a line through the center, the international symbol for _no_. 

He left the pen uncapped, just because, and went to look out of the glass door leading to the balcony. He could see Sephiroth in the reflection when he entered the room, watched him move quietly across the hardwood floor and stand behind Cloud. 

He stood closer, this time. Cloud met his eyes in the glass. They stared at each other for a long moment, and the tension might have been pleasurable, all heat and anticipation, if not for everything else that lay beneath it. 

Before Sephiroth could say or do anything, Cloud turned and pushed at his shoulders, not gently, moving him backwards. Sephiroth’s eyes flashed and Cloud could see him trying to work out if this was going to be a fight or not, but he didn’t give him any other hints, just pushed again until Sephiroth’s knees hit the back of the low bed. 

“Cloud --” 

“I don’t want to talk,” Cloud told him, flatly, and pushed again. Sephiroth sat on the bed, and Cloud climbed on top of him and straddled him on his knees. 

Sephiroth tilted his head up. His hair was still damp, but his bangs were almost dry and were already standing up, framing his face. For a moment Cloud tried to see the monster he’d fought on the ShinRa Tower, the madman he’d felled in Nibelheim, and couldn’t. 

And that scared him more than anything. “I don’t know who you are,” he said, hands resting on Sephiroth’s shoulders, his eyes searching the other man’s for answers neither of them knew. 

“That’s because you keep waiting for me to be someone else,” Sephiroth said, very quietly. 

Cloud didn’t want to think about that, about what it meant or how it was true. About how part of him wanted to apologize, and part of him… “Can you blame me?” 

“No,” Sephiroth said. “I can’t.”

Cloud reached up and slid his fingers into Sephiroth’s hair, twisting his fingers around still-damp strands. He tugged, then pulled a little harder. “It feels like the second I believe this is you, I’m going to get a sword through my chest again.” 

“Hmm.” Sephiroth made that noise, the one Cloud remembered from so many of their altercations but which never sounded quite the same as it did now. “You’ll have to settle for a broom. My sword is back in Midgar.” 

Cloud didn’t smile, but he relaxed a little -- or, rather, the tension in his muscles became more enjoyable, caused by something other than his own inner angst. “Edge. Not Midgar. Midgar is gone.” 

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed, one of his hands sliding around to Cloud’s hip. “I thought you didn’t want to talk, Cloud.” 

“I don’t. But I like it when you’re wrong about something.” He did smile, then, and pulled hard on Sephiroth’s hair at the same time. When Sephiroth gave a sharp moan, he leaned down and kissed him. 

It was different, this time, without the heat of anger behind it, without the sudden _shock_ of finding Sephiroth’s mouth on his own. Cloud kissed him without hesitating, because that had never been a good idea when it came to Sephiroth before, so why should it be any different, now? 

“You’re a very perplexing man, Strife,” Sephiroth said, when Cloud pulled back to breathe. His eyes were bright, pupils dilated. 

“Yeah.” Cloud kissed him again, breathing fast, shifting on Sephiroth’s lap and settling his weight more firmly on top of the other man’s. “You like puzzles, don’t you?” Cloud said, biting at Sephiroth’s ear just as Sephiroth had done to him, earlier. “So don’t complain.” 

“It wasn’t a complaint.” Sephiroth’s hands were on Cloud’s hips, long fingers digging in slightly as Cloud mouthed at his neck. He was very still, though Cloud could hear his breathing getting rougher, could feel his heart beating faster in his chest. 

_So he does have one._

Cloud’s fingers moved down from Sephiroth’s hair to his back, rubbing as if he were looking for the wing joints that should be there, but weren’t. “Where does it go?” 

“I don’t know. I have several theories, but I’m not actually sure.” 

“Can you feel it, inside you?” 

Sephiroth made a low, rumbling noise that vibrated against Cloud’s body, and which took Cloud a moment to place as a laugh. He felt himself blush and raised his head, giving Sephiroth as much of a glare as he could manage. “The wing, Sephiroth.” 

“Yes, Cloud,” he said, and for once, his voice saying Cloud’s name made Cloud shiver -- but not in fear. “I can feel it.” 

Before Cloud could chastise him for being an adolescent boy, Sephiroth moved with sudden speed and flipped Cloud so he was on his back, arms pinned over his head. “Do you want to see it?” he asked, as close to _playful_ as Cloud had ever thought he’d see. 

Cloud blinked up at him, then nodded. “Yeah.” 

Sephiroth leaned back on his haunches. Cloud settled his newly-freed arms behind his head, watching with interest as Sephiroth crossed his arms and tugged his shirt off. It made his hair fall around his shoulders and forward, and then his wing was just _there_ , where it wasn’t before. 

“If I was fifteen, seeing you do that might have made me come in my jeans,” Cloud told him, and then his eyes widened slightly in surprise, because… “For the love of -- did that just make you _blush_?” 

Sephiroth didn’t say anything, but his wing rustled and moved in a whir of feathers...and then hit Cloud on the side of the head. 

Cloud batted at it with a scowl. A few feathers settled around him. “I still think you’re molting.” 

“Living with you is very stressful,” Sephiroth told him. He flared his wing again, then pulled it back so it was tucked against his back but not retracted, and leaned down to kiss him. His hair fell around them, which Cloud found momentarily overwhelming and pushed at Sephiroth’s shoulder. 

“I could pull that easier if you put it all in one place.” 

Sephiroth sighed and rolled his eyes, but once again straightened up and obligingly pulled his hair into a ponytail. Cloud liked that, not only because it got all of that mass of silver out of the way, but it made Sephiroth look human. And he hadn’t been lying. It _was_ easier to pull on it, that way. 

Which Cloud did, until he felt Sephiroth’s hands sliding under his shirt and trying to take it off of him. Cloud sat up a little to help Sephiroth get the shirt off, and he wasn’t thinking about anything but how fucking good it felt to have Sephiroth’s weight on him, how he could feel Sephiroth hard against him -- until he saw Sephiroth staring intently at his chest. 

Cloud was not one who was insecure about his body, necessarily -- he had lot more important things to be insecure or worried about, when it came right down to it. But he went up on his elbows, distracted by the intensity with which Sephiroth was looking at him...until he saw what must have caught Sephiroth’s attention. 

“I gave you this,” he said, quietly, fingers hovering but not actually touching the thin scar high up on the right side of Cloud’s chest. 

Cloud saw no reason to lie, so he didn’t. He nodded. “Yeah.” He saw Sephiroth’s eyes moving across his chest, and knew what he was searching for. “I don’t have one from...from Nibelheim. The mako took care of it.” 

Sephiroth nodded. Cloud waited, barely breathing, and watched as Sephiroth’s fingers lightly traced the whitened line of flesh. It made him shiver, and as flushed and overheated as he was, Sephiroth’s touch still burned. 

“I suppose I should apologize,” Sephiroth said, still rubbing his fingers over the scar, back and forth. 

“Why? ‘Cause your aim sucked?” 

Sephiroth ignored Cloud’s breathless, ill-timed joke. “Because I should be sorry.” 

“Right. But you’re not, because you don’t remember doing it,” Cloud said. He remembered how it felt, the agony of the blade slicing through flesh and tendons. “And here, you were the one who told me you didn’t want me to forget what it felt like.” His chin raised slightly. “Most of the time I do, though. Forget.” 

Sephiroth’s small smile faded. “But not now,” he said, watching Cloud. “Right now, you remember.” 

“Yes,” Cloud said, feeling dangerous and turned on, unsure what was going to happen, here. “Right now, I remember.” 

Sephiroth lowered his head and, while Cloud watched, he ran his tongue from one end of the scar to the other. Cloud heard a noise that sounded like a moan and realized he was the one making it, but he couldn’t stop. 

He grabbed at Sephiroth’s hair again, pulling hard. “You’re not trying to kiss it and making it better, are you? That’s as bad as making out in a gazebo.” 

Sephiroth made a sound and licked the scar again, eyes rolled upwards so he could watch Cloud while he did it. “No. I like it.” 

Cloud’s eyes narrowed, and he pulled harder. “You _like_ it? What the fuck, Sephiroth.” 

“I like knowing you survived what I did to you. I find it attractive. Is that a problem?” 

“It should be,” Cloud huffed, laying back down on the bed as Sephiroth kept kissing his chest. “It’s fucked up.” 

“What about this isn’t?” 

Cloud thought about that. “I guess you have a point,” he said, and then Sephiroth was shifting so he was lying on top of Cloud, grabbing for his hands again to pin his wrists to the bed while he kissed him. 

Cloud bit him on the lip, because with his arms pinned he couldn’t pull Sephiroth’s hair. He thought Sephiroth might like it, and if the moan he got for his efforts was any indication, he was right. 

Sephiroth was moving on top of him with the same languid, deadly grace as he wielded the masamune. Cloud remembered he was a swordsman, and that it didn’t make him complicit in Sephiroth’s dehumanization to appreciate his skill in moving his body, or enjoy the way the callouses on Sephiroth’s left hand felt on his body. 

Cloud managed to hook a leg around his waist, pushing his hips up at the same time Sephiroth ground down with his own. It felt so good, it nearly made his eyes cross. He couldn’t remember the last time anything had felt this good, sex or otherwise. 

“Um,” Cloud panted, hotly, against Sephiroth’s mouth. His arms were free, and one was wrapped desperately in Sephiroth’s hair, the other hooked around the back of Sephiroth’s neck as they strained and moved against each other. “I think I’m -- you should --” 

“I should what, Cloud?” Sephiroth asked, moving to kiss at Cloud’s neck, nipping lightly with his teeth. He pushed his hips down, hard, making Cloud shudder beneath him. “Stop?” 

“No,” Cloud said, so crankily he could hear Sephiroth huff a laugh against his neck. “Just, um.” 

“You’re going to come in your jeans, even if you’re not fifteen?” 

Cloud kicked at him with his heel, but that startled a laugh from him regardless. A laugh that turned into another moan, as Sephiroth reached down and started teasing at the top button of Cloud’s jeans, longer fingers rubbing a little beneath the waistband. “Sephiroth.” 

“Yes, Cloud?” 

Cloud kicked him again, this time aiming for his wing. Sephiroth made a noise like a growl and bit him, hard, on the shoulder. He didn’t stop the relentless push of his hips, and he shifted so it was his thigh rubbing up against Cloud’s erection, instead of his own. 

With an annoyed sound, Cloud slammed his head back against the pillow. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, or why he was fighting -- other than he didn’t want to come in his pants, but he _did_ want to come. He tried to reach down and take care of it himself, but Sephiroth gave a dark laugh and grabbed his wrist, pulling it away. 

“I don’t think so,” he said. 

Cloud tried to kick him in the wing again. 

Sephiroth’s wing flared out, and he gave Cloud a challenging stare and grabbed Cloud around the throat. His fingers squeezed, but he rubbed at the side of Cloud’s neck with his thumb and let go before Cloud started to struggle to breathe. 

“I’m not asking --” Cloud started, gasping a little, not wanting to think about how good that made everything feel, that momentary loss of air, how it strengthened the sensations almost unbearably. He gave another vicious tug to Sephiroth’s ponytail. 

Sephiroth responded by tightening his fingers on Cloud’s throat again, and rubbing his thigh against Cloud’s cock at the same time. When he let go so Cloud could breathe, Cloud arched up and nearly came, right there, had to struggle to make himself not because oh, fuck no, he wasn’t losing. 

This was more like sparring than sex. Which gave Cloud an idea, because if there was one thing he was used to, it was fighting with people who were, a, Sephiroth, and b, bigger than he was. So he relaxed under Sephiroth’s weight, let his eyes go wide and his muscles pliant and said, hesitantly, “Please…” 

And then, in the half second where Sephiroth relaxed his guard, probably thinking he was going to hear what he wanted, Cloud shifted his weight and rolled, used his shoulder and got Sephiroth on his back, so _he_ was the one on top. 

Cloud grinned fiercely down at him. “You always underestimate me,” he said, aroused and excited in a way that felt like fighting, but the good part of fighting, the adrenaline without the fear. “Ha.” 

Sephiroth still had a hand around Cloud’s neck. He started stroking the column of Cloud’s throat, and he didn’t look all that unhappy or annoyed or even surprised. “Yes, you’re very clever, Strife.” 

Cloud had to let go of Sephiroth’s ponytail when he flipped them, and he was so busy being pleased with himself for managing that, he missed Sephiroth’s fingers sliding easily into his _own_ hair. The hand that was at Cloud’s neck moved downwards, lazily, but instead of taking off Cloud’s pants -- 

\-- Sephiroth took off his own. Which Cloud discovered, when Sephiroth used his grip on Cloud’s hair to force him down, trapping him neatly by tangling one of his longer legs in one of Cloud’s. There was no sign of his wing, which meant he must have retracted it as Cloud had flipped them, meaning he wasn’t as surprised as Cloud had hoped he’d be by that little move. 

Thoroughly disgruntled, Cloud glared up at him. “If you say _checkmate_ , I’m gonna punch you in the dick.” 

Sephiroth couldn’t look angelic if he tried, but he did _smug fallen angel_ pretty well. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Cloud,” he said, and tugged on Cloud’s hair with one hand, the other going behind his head. 

“Tch.” Cloud hated to admit that this was really getting him going, the flipping around and the sparring, and yes, even the hair-pulling and the choking. Gods, why was he such a weirdo? 

“Cloud,” Sephiroth said, surprising him, sliding his hand down the side of his face and tipping his chin up with two fingers. “You don’t have to.” 

“I know I don’t _have_ to,” Cloud muttered, uncomfortable with how hot he found Sephiroth tilting his face up like that. “I’m trying to decide if I want to.” 

“Hmm.” Sephiroth reached down, and Cloud watched for a moment, dry-mouthed and speechless, while he took himself in hand and lazily stroked himself with those long fingers. “Take your time.” 

It had been a long time since Cloud had given anyone a blowjob, but he was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to go at it like you were trying to win a fight. But that’s what he did, and he was as aggressive as he’d ever been with anyone and yet it didn’t feel weird, somehow. Maybe it was because he didn’t know how to be any other way, with Sephiroth. 

Or maybe he just liked how Sephiroth responded to having Cloud suck his cock, the way he arched beneath him, the sounds he made. His fingers wrapped around the back of Cloud’s neck, tight but not choking, and Cloud liked that, too. 

He also liked that Sephiroth didn’t notice his own hand reaching down and unbuttoning his jeans, so that he could stroke himself while he sucked Sephiroth off. As much as he liked it when Sephiroth gasped and tugged on his hair in warning, as much as he liked the sounds Sephiroth made when Cloud refused to pull off, the way Sephiroth tensed and arched, the way his wing flared out suddenly when he came -- 

Cloud didn’t know if he wanted to be the one losing control, didn’t know if he could trust himself to fall apart beneath Sephiroth’s hands. 

Even if the thought of it is what finally got him off, silently, his face pressed against Sephiroth’s stomach.


	12. The Movie On Your Eyelids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sephiroth confronts his nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a happy ending for this story, promise. We're just not there yet :| 
> 
>  
> 
> why do that when I can torture them first? you kind of deserve it, Sephiroth, and Cloud -- it's not like you don't expect it eventually >>

**Chapter Twelve: The Movie on your Eyelids**

Sephiroth thought about painting his now-finished gazebo, but in the end he decided to let it be and move on to other projects. 

For one thing, it was the rainy season; showers and storms popped up at fairly random intervals and tended to last either a few hours or a few days. That made it difficult to do any painting, as even when it wasn’t raining, the humidity made it feel like breathing through a sponge. For another, Rufus had sent over the encrypted files from Hollander’s research, and Sephiroth found studying them to be a far more pressing concern. 

If mental degeneration was indeed the reason behind his destructive behavior, he had to find a way to stop it from happening again. If he couldn’t…..

Cloud would have to kill him. There was no way around that simple truth; Sephiroth refused to descend into madness and lose control over his actions and his mental faculties. The idea was abhorrent to him. 

“It’s funny you care more about that than, oh, all the people you hurt. Or killed,” Cloud observed, because those were the sorts of observations Cloud liked to make when it came to him. 

Sephiroth tried pointing out to Cloud that hurting and killing people was exactly the thing he was created to do, and that the aberration was the impulses behind his behavior, not the behavior itself. 

“But you tried to _take over the world_ ,” Cloud reminded him. “Normal people don’t do that. Normal people don’t even _think_ about it.” 

“Normal people weren’t given a sword at the age of thirteen and told to bring a country to heel on behalf of what was, essentially, a corporate-backed army,” Sephiroth said. “I don’t know which body count was higher -- the one from my time in Wutai, or the one from my attempts at godhood.” 

“The fact you can even say that with a straight face freaks me out,” said Cloud.

“I say everything with a straight face,” Sephiroth reminded him. “Would you rather I laugh about it? Isn’t that what I did when I was crazy?” 

“You were never really one for the evil laughter,” Cloud said, after a moment of thought. “More like, an evil chuckle here and there.” 

“That does sound more like me,” Sephiroth agreed. “No one’s ever accused me of having much of a sense of humor.” 

“You do have one, though,” Cloud said, surprising him. “You’re actually kind of funny. When you’re not being a dick. Or crazy.” 

“I’ll put that in the file,” Sephiroth muttered, going back to his stack of papers. The rain was hitting against the roof, against the glass door separating the kitchen from the small balcony. He’d been working at the kitchen table, as it had a larger surface to organize all the materials Rufus had sent over, as well as set up the computer. 

Cloud used the computer to play chess. He couldn’t win a game against _it_ , either. 

“Already noted,” Cloud said, referring to his observation about Sephiroth’s sense of humor. “I put it on your last weekly progress report.” 

“Oh? And what other progress have I made?” 

Cloud, who was drinking one of his horrible energy drinks, raised both his eyebrows. “Said you’d gotten better at playing with others.” 

Sephiroth smirked at him, though he was more than a little surprised at Cloud’s innuendo. Cloud did not tend to reference anything that happened between them in the bedroom when they weren’t in it. “Did you.” 

Cloud tried to shrug nonchalantly, but Sephiroth could see a faint stain of red on his cheeks as he lifted his energy drink. “Yeah.” 

Sephiroth looked back down at his files with a slight smile, but didn’t say anything. Cloud was gone the next time he looked up, which must have been quite some time as the light coming through the windows had darkened dramatically. 

He stood up and stretched, looking down at the notes he’d made on the pad of paper. Most of Hollander’s private files were useless as far as his research went, though the man did enjoy making the occasional snide, caustic remark at the expense of other scientists. 

Mainly Hojo. 

Still, all the witticisms in the world wouldn’t help him figure this out. But it wasn’t like he was having that much luck with pure, dry science, either. 

“No luck?” 

Sephiroth looked over at Cloud, who had reappeared with a box in his hands. It had a picture of Cosmo Canyon on the front, and it took Sephiroth a moment to realize what it was. He shook his head in response to the question, then said, “Is that a jigsaw puzzle?” 

Cloud put the box on the table, then put his hands on his slim hips. He gave Sephiroth a challenging stare, chin tilted up in unnecessary defiance. “Yeah. So?” 

Sephiroth’s eyes rolled heavenward. “I was just asking.” 

“You’re not helping me put it together,” Cloud told him, bristling with belligerence. “I’m doing it myself.” 

Sephiroth stared at him. “I won’t help you with your puzzle, Cloud.” 

Cloud scowled, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. “You won’t be able to help yourself, probably. You’re kind of like that.” 

Sephiroth started stacking his papers and organizing them in into neat piles. “I’ve got my own puzzle to work on.” 

“Mine has a better picture, though,” Cloud said, and dumped the box out on the table. “I found this downstairs. The other one was less pieces, but it was of the ShinRa Tower.” 

“Before or after it blew up?” 

“Before.” Cloud gave him a very small smile. “Might’ve put it together, if it was after.” 

Sephiroth gave a low laugh, and watched as Cloud went still. He wasn’t sure if it was the good kind of still, or the one where Cloud was thinking about encounters they’d had before, painful ones that ended in blood that Sephiroth didn’t remember. 

“That wasn’t supposed to be an evil laugh,” Sephiroth said, very quietly. 

“It wasn’t,” Cloud said, just as quiet. He looked up, and they stared at each other for a moment. Sephiroth felt a warm curl of heat in his stomach, a pleasurable tension settling over him as he went to make dinner. 

At one point he looked up and saw Cloud at the table, head bent, sliding pieces into neat little piles and then pulling them forward, trying to make them fit. 

* * *   
Cloud came to his room that night, and things started off as awkward as they always did, with Cloud acting angry for being attracted to him and Sephiroth not having any clue how to tell him to calm down without infuriating him. 

Saying _Cloud, calm down_ did not end well, he’d learned that a few nights ago. Cloud had stormed out, leaving him half-dressed and worked up with only his left hand for company. 

(The next morning, Cloud had shown up when Sephiroth was in the shower, climbed in with him without invitation and kissed him, saying in an angry voice, _don’t tell me to calm down, Sephiroth,_ as if that had happened ten minutes ago instead of ten hours.) 

“You know,” Sephiroth said, arms crossed over his chest, “I’m not _making_ you go to bed with me.” 

“I know that,” Cloud snapped. He was leaning against the wall, and anyone else would make that pose look casual -- but not Cloud. He seemed to be comprised entirely of angles and lines, all of them rigid and sharp without any give whatsoever. His resemblance to the spikes of his hair was remarkable. 

Sephiroth resisted smirking at the thought. Cloud would likely interpret it as Sephiroth laughing at him, and storm out in a huff.

“Are you going to go through this mental torment every time, do you think?” Sephiroth tilted his head, considering the idea. “If so, maybe I should take the opportunity to go and have a shower.” 

Cloud’s mouth twitched. “Very funny.” 

“I wasn’t joking,” Sephiroth informed him. “It takes a long time for me to wash my hair.” 

Cloud made a noise that almost sounded like a laugh, and pushed out of his lean to cross the room and join him. Before Sephiroth could explain that he was actually being very serious about that, Cloud was all over him; pushing him back towards the bed and tangling his fingers in Sephiroth’s hair, mouth hot and demanding on Sephiroth’s own. 

For such a quiet, controlled man, Cloud was certainly a very aggressive lover. Genesis had been the same, and their rivalry outside of the bedroom had led to some very rough-and-tumble play inside of it. But Sephiroth was nothing if not observant, and Cloud’s utter determination to make sure he got himself off before Sephiroth could do so had not gone unnoticed. 

Sephiroth knew why, too. He’d been the same way with Angeal and Genesis at first, overwhelmed by all the attention and pleasure being focused solely on _him_. It had felt very much like a loss of control, and Sephiroth was fairly certain that was exactly how Cloud was looking at it. Given their complex history, it was understandable that _losing control_ was the last thing Cloud would want to do around him. 

But that didn’t mean he was going to let it keep happening. Angeal and Genesis certainly did not -- Sephiroth had a vivid memory of Angeal tying him to the bed and restricting the use of his hands. It had been some time ago -- even without his missing years -- but Sephiroth was still somewhat surprised he’d allowed that. 

_You trusted him, once. Maybe more than anyone._

Had his breakdown in Nibelheim been nothing more than a result of his genetics and the loss of the two people who’d ever mattered to him?

 _If losing my mother made Hojo insane enough to turn his son into an experiment, would losing Angeal and Genesis make me burn down an entire town?_

“Hey.” 

Cloud’s voice, low and a little rough, brought his attention back to the present. He was straddling Sephiroth, his eyes bright and his pupils dilated, a flush on his fair skin. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, but he _was_ wearing jeans...and a belt. 

“Something on your mind?” Cloud asked, and he didn’t sound mad, just serious. “You’re not into it or whatever, you can just tell me.” 

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re sitting on my lap. You can’t tell if I’m into it or not?” 

Cloud made a face. He briefly resembled the angry-looking chocobo that graced the can of those energy drinks of his. Sephiroth kept that observation to himself for the moment. 

“You’re doing that thing, though. Where you don’t blink. Usually means you’re thinking about something.” Cloud paused. “Or trying to kill me. Which is it?” 

Sephiroth smiled at him. “It’s no fun if I tell you, Cloud.” 

“Ha, ha.” Cloud’s eyes narrowed, but his eyes flashed and his hips moved against Sephiroth’s own, almost involuntarily. That was an interesting reaction, and one Sephiroth would have to explore further. 

At the moment, though….

“There is something on my mind,” Sephiroth said, and reached out to undo Cloud’s belt with one hand, the other pulling Cloud down by the back of his neck. 

While he kissed him, he tucked the belt under the pillow next to him, then flipped them so that Cloud was on his back. Cloud didn’t push him away, and Sephiroth slid one leg between Cloud’s and pressed his thigh against Cloud’s erection, before moving his mouth to Cloud’s neck and biting gently at his ear. 

While he did that, he grabbed Cloud’s wrists and moved them above his head, biting a little harder to distract him. His other hand found the belt, and Sephiroth increased the pressure of his thigh, rubbing harder at Cloud’s cock and enjoying, for a moment, the way Cloud bucked up under him, the sound he made that was half-growl, half-moan. 

Then, he tied Cloud’s wrists together with the belt, too fast for Cloud to realize what he was doing. 

“Hey!” Cloud protested, predictably irritated, twisting beneath Sephiroth in a way that he might not have intended to be sexual but was still very, very arousing. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Tying your wrists together with your belt,” Sephiroth said, his mouth still nuzzling at Cloud’s neck. “So you can’t get yourself off like you always do. Did you think I hadn’t noticed?” 

“No, I just didn’t care,” Cloud groused, giving him a thoroughly annoyed look. He tugged on the belt. “I could probably get out of this, you know.” 

“Go ahead and try, if you want,” Sephiroth said, agreeably enough. He increased the pressure of his thigh again, smirking against Cloud’s skin. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you enjoy it.” 

Cloud went still, obviously figuring out that if he tried struggling, Sephiroth would make sure he came from the friction generated by all the wriggling he’d have to do. “This is stupid.” 

“Hmm.” Sephiroth nipped at Cloud’s pulse-point before sitting up and giving him a pleased smirk. “It’s what you want, though, isn’t it?” 

“You to tie my wrists up with a belt? Not really.” Cloud wouldn’t look at him. 

“Would you prefer something else? There’s a jump rope down by the treadmill.” 

“Are you -- no, I do not want you to tie my hands with a jump rope, I don’t want you to do it at all.” Cloud was still staring, very intently, at the wall. 

“Yes, you do.” 

“What --” Cloud’s breath hitched as Sephiroth undid the top button of his jeans. “Why would you -- think that -- ” 

“Because then you can pretend you didn’t want it,” Sephiroth told him, kissing him on the mouth. He wasn’t surprised when Cloud bit him, but he didn’t mind. Especially not when Cloud moaned into his mouth a few seconds later, when Sephiroth’s fingers wrapped tight around his cock. 

“I’m beginning to think you don’t trust me to know how to get you off, Cloud,” Sephiroth said, watching him intently. He tightened his fingers, moved his hand exactly how he knew Cloud liked it. “I do, you know. I’ve watched you enough times by now to figure it out.” 

Cloud was still pulling against the belt holding his wrists, but there was something about the way that he was doing it that suggested Sephiroth had been right all along about Cloud wanting the restraint. “Maybe I just don’t want you to.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Cloud finally raised his eyes to meet Sephiroth’s, his own wide and dazed. He looked like he was going to say something, but Sephiroth twisted his wrist and Cloud’s back arched. Sephiroth smiled at him in pleasure. “I told you. I paid attention.” 

“That’s not -- oh,” Cloud moaned, eyes fluttering closed and his head went back, exposing his throat. 

Something hot and dark stirred at the sight, but Sephiroth tempered his urge to lean down and bite Cloud until he bled, to mark that smooth skin like his masamune had marked his chest. _Mine,_ he thought, and there was a strange echo like he’d thought that before, and just for a moment something trembled on the edge of his awareness -- not a memory but a remembered sensation, and not necessarily a pleasant one. Like hunger, or pain. 

Sephiroth’s fingers stilled for a moment, eyes meeting Cloud’s. Cloud’s widened, and he jerked hard against the restraint around his wrists and this time, it seemed almost genuine. Sephiroth wondered if he would do it, if he would take the belt off if Cloud asked him to. He should, but he didn’t want to. 

_Don’t,_ that dark part whispered, tantalized, laughed in his mind. 

Cloud didn’t ask him to take it off. Instead, he just went still and said, “Hey. _Hey_. Come back.” 

Sephiroth blinked, and whatever dark tide had risen inside of him receded back into the depths of his memory. He wondered, for the first time, if he had ever had Cloud like this before, restrained and beneath him, but with something other than desire motivating him. “We’ve never -- I never, before --” 

“No. You always tried to kill me, not...anything else.” Cloud cleared his throat, his hot eyes meeting Sephiroth’s. “Get me off. I want you to.” 

Things had taken a strange turn, but perhaps Sephiroth shouldn’t be all that surprised. Nothing was easy with Cloud, ever. _You’re so very well-named, Strife._ Sephiroth’s hand moved again, but he reached up to undo the belt around Cloud’s wrists with the other. 

“No, you can -- leave it,” Cloud bit out, his hips pushing up rhythmically, in time to Sephiroth’s stroking hand on his cock. “It’s fine.” 

“So I was right,” Sephiroth said, rubbing his thumb over the head of Cloud’s cock. 

Cloud’s answer was a low gasp, but he did raise one leg and kick him in the back with his heel. “I said it was _fine_. Could you get on with it?” 

Sephiroth did the thing with his thumb again, twisting his wrist and tightening his grip again -- but he slowed down, drew it out and watched Cloud the whole time as he backed him off the edge, then sent him hurtling back towards it with brutal efficiency. 

“Shall I make you ask for it, Cloud?” 

“Shall I -- bite your -- dick off, Sephir-- _oh_ \--” 

Sephiroth laughed at that, and Cloud’s eyes, which had been clenched tightly shut, opened at the sound. They looked startlingly young, almost innocent, and he looked at Sephiroth like he wasn’t even sure where he _was_. That dark tide stirred again, but before it had a chance to crest, Cloud went tense and his back snapped into a hard arch, and he came in Sephiroth’s hand. 

Cloud turned his face away when he came, but that was all right. It was still very satisfying to watch, and it once again drove that darkness inside of him back into the shadows where it belonged. 

Eventually, Cloud made a noise and stretched a little on the bed. The sight of him there, with his jeans unbuttoned and his hair a mess, wrists still tied above his head by the belt, was very satisfying. “And how was that, Cloud?” Sephiroth asked, as Cloud tried to catch his breath. 

Cloud finally opened his eyes, and regarded Sephiroth solemnly for a moment...and then he yawned. “Was okay. Untie me.” 

Sephiroth’s satisfied, rather smug smile vanished. “Not until you find a better adjective than _okay_.” 

Cloud gave him a fierce grin. “Aw. Did I hurt your feelings? You know I’m not good with words.” 

“Mmm. I’ll have to find something else for you to do with your mouth, then,” said Sephiroth, reaching up to undo the belt. Which, as it turned out, wasn’t really necessary. Cloud’s hands could have easily slipped free, if he hadn’t been gripping at the leather. 

Sephiroth opened his mouth to say something about that, then changed his mind and tossed the belt to the floor. He’d achieved his objective, there was no point in gloating about it. 

Besides. Cloud _was_ much better using his mouth for things other than talking, which Sephiroth was more than happy to let him demonstrate. 

 

* * * 

Sephiroth was standing in a white room, staring at Angeal and Genesis, both of whom stood before him. They had round, black holes where eyes and a mouth should have been, and as one, they both lifted their arms and pointed at him accusingly. 

“I tried to save you,” Sephiroth whispered. Even without eyes, their regard felt like condemnation. “I tried.” 

He watched as their features melted into the darkness, leaving their faces nothing but gaping, black pits. Everything else about them looked exactly as Sephiroth remembered; Angeal with his heavy broadsword strapped to his back, Genesis in his leather coat, red as spilled blood. 

There was a scream from behind him. Sephiroth turned and saw Cloud Strife standing there, eyes wide and betrayed, blood pouring from his mouth. Masamune was buried in his chest, directly in his heart. 

Sephiroth’s own arm was extended, his hand wrapped around the hilt. _No._   
There was a soft laugh from next to him. Sephiroth turned his head and saw himself standing there, the one he’d seen waving in the mirror. His _other_ smiled at him. “Go on,” his own voice encouraged him. “Twist the blade. Gut him until there’s nothing left.” 

Sephiroth looked back at Cloud, who was screaming again. He was doing it, he was twisting the hilt of his sword and pulling downward, eviscerating Cloud in one neat slice. 

“He’s just a failed experiment,” said Hojo, standing at his side. He was making marks on a clipboard. “Not worth your time.” 

Sephiroth looked back in front of him. Cloud was still there, but instead of being impaled on a sword, he was encased in a tank. As Sephiroth watched, Cloud’s eyes opened and he began to beat against the glass with his fists. He was saying something. A name, maybe. Not Sephiroth’s. 

There was a table between Sephiroth and the tank. On it was a body, cut open from sternum to groin. Hojo was standing in front of the table, laughing, pulling something out that looked horrifyingly like entrails. 

The thing on the table -- its legs were kicking, but all Sephiroth could see were boots. 

Hojo looked over his shoulder. “I’m doing this for your own good, boy.” He held up a scalpel, then turned and drew it across the neck of whatever the thing was on the table. The legs stopped kicking. Cloud started soundlessly screaming, beating his fists impotently against the tank. 

Hojo finally stepped out of the way. He saw the thing on the table, and it took him a moment to realize who it was, recognizable only by the blood-soaked spikes of black hair. 

The thing that was once Zack turned its head and lifted one arm, stripped of flesh down to the muscle, pointing at Sephiroth. 

“Your fault.” 

“Zack--” Sephiroth took a step towards him, but his _other_ got there first -- and promptly impaled his former friend and comrade through the neck with his sword. His other fixed him with a look from cold, dead eyes. 

“Remember what it feels like to hate.” 

Sephiroth could hear Cloud, screaming in agony. The other version of himself lifted his sword, which was covered in blood, as flames leapt to life behind him.

“Remember what it feels like to _burn_.” 

Sephiroth woke up with a start, tangled in the sheets and the strands of his hair. His heart was racing unpleasantly fast, and he was covered in sweat. 

Next to him, Cloud Strife lay sleeping, sprawled on his back. Sephiroth could see the scar on Cloud’s chest, from where his blade pierced through skin. The urge to touch it was nearly overwhelming, but he restrained himself with effort. Unease prickled like needles over his skin, and he did not trust himself to do anything but sit there in the dark and try to breathe. 

Cloud’s eyes opened, glowing faintly. “You’re staring at me. S’creepy,” he said, on a yawn. “Stoppit.” 

Sephiroth closed his eyes, but he did not fall back to sleep. He lay there and listened to the sound of the rain hitting against the windows, to the sound of Cloud’s deep, even breathing, until morning. 

And as he lay there, he wondered if monsters dreamed. 

* * *   
Two days later, Rufus sent along another set of encrypted files, more supplies, tofu, Cloud’s horrible energy drinks, and a DVD with a note attached. The note was from Tseng, and it was addressed to him. 

_Sephiroth,_

_This security footage was recently found buried beneath several layers of complicated computer coding. Most of the footage has been lost, but someone went to great lengths to make sure this particular incident wasn’t forgotten. We’re currently at a loss as to who that might be._

_The decision to make this footage available to you was not unanimous. However, if it were me, I would want to see it. This is the only extant copy, though of course I won’t insult your intelligence and tell you that we destroyed the original. It is entirely up to you if you want to view this material, or simply destroy it._

_I should warn you that it is incredibly disturbing. I, personally, never want to see it again_

_Tseng_

Sephiroth stared at the DVD in his hands, at the date written in plain, black marker on simple clear case. A date he couldn’t remember, and a date Cloud couldn’t forget. 

“What’s that?” Cloud asked, appearing next to him. He sounded, if not cheerful, as close to it as Sephiroth had ever heard. “Did Rufus make you a mixed tape? Should I be jealous?” 

“It’s security footage from one of Hojo’s laboratories,” Sephiroth said, fingers tightening briefly on the cheap plastic case. It would be so easy to destroy it, to break it in half without subjecting either himself or Cloud to its contents. But he wouldn’t do that.

He made himself meet Cloud’s wide blue eyes and say, without flinching, “It’s from Nibelheim, Cloud.” 

Cloud’s brow furrowed briefly, and he shook his head. The spikes of his hair bobbed gently as he did so. “I don’t -- what?” He looked at the DVD, then back at Sephiroth.

Sephiroth handed it to him. “I’m sure you’ll recognize the date.” 

Cloud made a sound like a wounded animal and dropped the DVD on the floor. He shook his head. “No. What? Why is that -- why does anyone _have_ that?” His features were suddenly distorted by rage, his bright eyes cold and deadly, and it occurred to Sephiroth that this was how he must have looked, Cloud, when they’d fought each other. 

He knew, from Cloud’s own retelling and from the facts he’d gleaned from the files, that he’d always underestimated Cloud Strife as an adversary. And he wondered how he’d done that, exactly, because the man standing in front of him was every bit as much as warrior as Sephiroth had ever seen. Cloud’s face settled into a look of pure, ironclad determination -- and he raised his boot, directly over the DVD case, intending to smash it to pieces. 

“Cloud!” Sephiroth said, surprised into raising his voice. “Don’t --” 

“This is -- I don’t want to watch it,” Cloud said, voice hard, sounding exactly like a man who’d fought and saved the world, who’d seen his friends die, who’d survived four years in Hojo’s tanks. “I don’t need to fucking watch this, Sephiroth. I was there. You were there. What’s the fucking point?” 

“Because I don’t remember it,” Sephiroth said, hands raised. “I don’t remember it, Cloud, and I’m terrified that I’m going to do it again.” The admission cost him more than Cloud would ever know -- Sephiroth had never in his life admitted to being terrified of anything. 

Cloud’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I won’t let you. _I will kill you first._ Do you hear me? I don’t care if we’re sleeping together. I’ll still kill you.” 

“I know.” Sephiroth took a deep breath. “I know you will. But I should watch it. I _need_ to. That wasn’t some remnant, it wasn’t a clone -- it was _me_. I have to know what I have it in me to become, Cloud.” 

Cloud glared at him, then leaned down and picked up the DVD. “Then let’s fucking get it over with,” he said, and headed towards the den. 

Sephiroth followed him. It felt like a funeral march, like going off to war and knowing you won’t come back.


	13. Protect Me from What I Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cloud fights many battles, most of which end in a draw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the camera surveillance -- hi, I claim artistic license :| basically, pretend it's set up in the chamber where Jenova's tank was kept on that randomly impressive dais. Because that's what you do, when you find an ancient being possibly from space! You put it in a tank, build a platform for it, and then make sure to get an _engraved brass plate_ so you don't forget what it's called. ShinRa was not concerned with spending back in the day, were they? 
> 
> (there is one camera angle switch, which is necessary for the plot and also for the author to torture Cloud Strife. He deserves it :|| ) 
> 
> Also, one of my favorite Cloud/Sephiroth moments ever is from Kingdom Hearts, where Cloud is like >:( at Sephiroth, brandishes his sword at him, and then Sephiroth...bows very gracefully. It's [here, at 1:24](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKDHz3SQ3ZU&list=PL5evPc-9nYADByrlG45ZSevT7aewjcD7f&index=7). In my head, this is the bow Sephiroth gives Cloud near the end of this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! :D I really appreciate the kind words and the kudos, and I'm just so happy y'all are enjoying the story! :D!

**Chapter 13: Protect Me from What I Want**

Cloud sat on the couch, back ramrod straight, hands clenched into fists as Sephiroth hit _play_ on the DVD menu. 

_Maybe it won’t work,_ he thought wildly, trying to control his breathing and not look like he was freaking the fuck out. 

For a minute, he thought he’d gotten his wish and his heart soared in hope….only to crash and break into a million pieces when the screen flickered to life. 

Cloud was so caught up in his own panic that he didn’t notice the concerned look Sephiroth was giving him. 

“Cloud,” he said, in that low voice which Cloud had _just started_ to find more attractive than terrifying, “you’re not breathing.” 

Cloud expelled a breath when he realized that was true. He glanced over at Sephiroth -- they were sitting several feet away from each other, an entire person-space between them -- and scowled. “You wanted to watch this,” he bit out. “So, watch.” 

The surveillance footage was grainy and blurry, but he could just make out the interior of the reactor -- and the long-haired figure on the platform, standing in front of a tank. Just the sight of it was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach, and Cloud had to close his eyes for a moment to regain his equilibrium. 

When he opened them, it was to see a familiar figure striding into view. Spiky black hair, impossibly large broadsword, a purposeful stride without a hint of fear. 

Zack. 

Cloud heard himself make the softest of sounds, a pained noise that almost resembled a whimper. There was no audio on the footage, and while he should have been glad about that given how this was all going to end, Cloud couldn’t help wishing he could hear Zack’s voice one more time -- somewhere other than his head. 

Sephiroth was facing away from Zack, who was obviously trying to get his attention. When it became apparent that talking wasn’t enough, Zack drew the Buster sword ( _the hilt smeared with blood, rain and tears burning his eyes as the light faded from Zack’s, the metal cold in his hands_ ) and laid the flat of the blade over Sephiroth’s shoulder. 

Sephiroth moved with his usual inhuman grace, turning with masamune raised and knocking Zack backwards. Sephiroth went after him with purposeful intent, and Cloud’s heart was lodged in his throat as he watched the two of them and thought, wildly, _win this time, Zack. Stop him so I don’t have to. Please._

But Zack didn’t win, and Sephiroth delivered a blow that knocked Zack’s sword out of his hand, and sent Zack flying backwards off-screen. Cloud could see Sephiroth, the one sitting next to him on the couch, close his eyes briefly. On-screen, Sephiroth stood staring for a moment, presumably at Zack lying prone on the staircase, and then turned his back and went back up the walkway back towards the tank. 

Other than that momentary flicker of his eyes, Sephiroth did not so much as move or make a single sound. Cloud’s stomach was twisted up into knots because he knew what came next, and he fought the childish urge to bury his face in his hands like it was a horror movie and he could watch it through his fingers. 

It was surreal to see himself, dressed in that long-forgotten ShinRa trooper’s uniform, features hidden beneath the bulky helmet. Unlike Zack, his stride was not purposeful and he was definitely afraid. Cloud watched his younger self hoist the too-large sword, and he remembered sweat stinging his eyes and how his heart sounded, a war drum beating out a dreadful tattoo as he ran. 

And then he saw himself stab Sephiroth through the back, and twist the blade once for good measure. 

Sephiroth’s head turned on the film, and while the camera wasn’t sharp enough to pick up subtleties of expressions, Cloud remembered that look Sephiroth had given him. Surprised, infuriated, and so _hateful_. 

Cloud watched himself pull the blade free, as Sephiroth slumped to the floor in front of the tank. 

Cloud knew what happened next, how he’d gone running to Tifa’s side and discarded his helmet, desperate to find out if she and Zack were all right. On-screen, he watched Sephiroth struggle to his feet, turning again towards the tank and using the hilt of his sword to break it. 

Then Sephiroth raised his blade, and, in a move that was almost too fast for the camera to capture, decapitated the creature inside the tank. The camera captured Sephiroth’s slow progress as he made his way, limping and obviously injured, out of the chamber. He held the severed head of the creature he believed to be his mother in one hand, his wicked blade raised in defiance in the other. 

 

For a moment there was nothing on-screen but the broken tank and the gruesome sight of Jenova’s remains. A few seconds later, a blur went hurtling through the chamber to crash near the bottom of the destroyed tank. A blur with spiky hair. Cloud. 

The blur was followed by Sephiroth, who approached Cloud with slow, predatory steps -- and then speared him through the chest with his sword. 

On the sofa, Cloud jumped. Part of him could feel it, the slice of the blade through his skin, the hot pain that followed. On-screen, Sephiroth raised the blade and Cloud watched himself struggling before finding some hidden well of inner strength to get back on his feet. He used his weight to throw Sephiroth off of him, sending Sephiroth careening towards the back wall of the chamber -- still clutching that ghastly head, masamune’s hilt still held tight in his hand. 

There was a bright flash of electric light as Sephiroth was electrocuted from the impact with the panel -- and then he fell out of the camera’s view, straight down into the reactor’s core. 

On-screen, Cloud stood up and stumbled out of the room, obviously injured, grabbing at the blood pouring from his chest.

 _How did I live through that? How?_

As if in answer to Cloud’s silent question, the footage switched to another camera, which showed Cloud and Zack both lying on the staircase, unmoving. This footage had a date and time stamped on it, suggesting they’d been lying there for a few hours. 

Suddenly, ShinRa troopers appeared on-screen, quickly and efficiently moving Zack and Cloud both onto gurneys. They stepped back as another figure came into view. A figure in a white lab coat. 

_That’s how you survived. Hojo. He saved you so you could endure the torments of hell for killing his son._

Cloud’s stomach heaved at the sight of Hojo. The room was suddenly too hot, his vision wavering and his ears buzzing unpleasantly. Impossibly, he thought he tasted the acidic, sharp tang of mako in his mouth and that was it, Cloud stood up and stumbled towards the sliding glass doors that lead to the porch. He barely made it outside before he fell on his knees and became suddenly, violently ill. 

It was raining, which he didn’t notice until his breathing had calmed down a bit. It was still too humid to be anything remotely close to _cool_ , but the fresh air and the feel of the rain on his skin brought him back to reality. 

_All of that is over, and it’s been over for a long time. You survived. And it wasn’t Hojo that saved you, it was Zack. So get off your knees and go back inside, don’t turn his sacrifice into a disgrace._

Cloud stood up, shakily, running a hand through his damp hair. He was absurdly grateful that Sephiroth had left him alone to have his moment of weakness in peace, but he still felt annoyed at himself for being so affected by the sight of _Hojo_ , of all people. 

Cloud took a few more deep breaths, then turned and went back inside. He took his boots off, as they were covered in mud and he was vaguely aware that Rufus would probably charge him for cleaning the hardwood floors if he tracked that inside. 

Sephiroth was still sitting on the couch, staring at the blue screen on the television. He didn’t look like he’d moved at all. 

“Sephiroth?” 

Sephiroth turned to look at him. There was no expression on his face, no hint of emotion in his voice as he spoke. “Yes, Cloud?” 

It was disturbing, because the cold eyes and the blank look, and that monotone voice...it reminded Cloud too much of the monster instead of the man, and he took an instinctive step backwards, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. 

Sephiroth noticed, of course he did. If possible, his face shut down even more. He turned back towards the DVD player, as if Cloud weren’t even there. But Cloud knew him better, now, and he could see Sephiroth’s fingers twitch slightly on his left hand. And even though his posture was always impeccable, there was a fine line of tension in his shoulders. As Cloud stared hard as his profile, he saw Sephiroth slowly lower his lashes and open them again. 

_Blinking. Breathing. These are good signs._ Cloud let out an audible breath and moved towards him. “I’m not going to be afraid of you.” 

Sephiroth cut his eyes up at him. He looked unfriendly, unapproachable, but not like a monster. He looked like a man who’d just watched himself go crazy, be electrocuted, and fall to his death on camera. 

“You should have disarmed me.” 

Cloud blinked. “Huh?” 

“When you initially brought me down. You shouldn’t have left me there without disarming me, first.” 

“Wait.” Cloud held up his hand, which was shaking slightly, but he ignored that. “Seriously, _what_?” 

“You left me alive, so you should have disarmed me. Or shot me in the head. You did have a gun, didn’t you?” 

Cloud’s mouth wouldn’t work right for a few seconds. “This is how we’re dealing with this, really?” 

“Yes,” Sephiroth said, still so calm and unflappable, like he wasn’t talking to the man he’d just watch kill him. “Because next time, Cloud, you need to disarm me. Or make sure I’m dead.” 

“Or,” Cloud said, almost wildly, “Let’s not have a next time.” 

Sephiroth gave that little, quiet laugh of his. “I’m starting to think this is all we’ll ever do, Cloud.” 

Cloud crossed his arms and glared. “Yeah, well, count me out.” 

Sephiroth looked away from him. “I should have seen you. In the reflection of the glass. I should have seen you, and I’m assuming you made a racket running up that walkway in your boots, and yet I just stood there and let you stab me.” 

“Hey,” Cloud protested, but really, all of those things were true. “Yeah, you probably should have.” 

Sephiroth reached up and rubbed at the bridge between his nose with his fingers. The humanness of the gesture made Cloud take another step towards him. 

“How did I survive that?” Sephiroth asked, picking up the remote. Before Cloud could stop him, he backed up the footage so he could watch himself be flung into an electric panel again. In fact, he paused it and leaned forward to study the image of himself sparking with deadly electricity, right before he plummeted to his death. 

“Could we just -- not do this?” Cloud asked, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. He was wet, and the air conditioning was on full-blast. Watching himself impaled on a sword was not helping get rid of the goosebumps. 

Watching this once was bad enough. Fuck, _living it once_ was bad enough -- did he really have to watch the slow-motion version, too? 

“I have to,” Sephiroth said, and the sudden intensity in his voice startled Cloud. “ _I have to_.” He backed the footage up again, this time watching himself decapitate Jenova. “Why did I do that?” 

“Because you were crazy,” Cloud said, flatly. He went over and forcibly ejected the DVD, pulling it out with the intent of snapping it in half. Sephiroth was there in a flash, long fingers wrapping tight around Cloud’s wrist. 

“Cloud, give me that back.” 

“No.” Cloud shifted, eluding Sephiroth’s attempts to grab the DVD from him. “I told you. We’re not doing this anymore.” 

“I’m trying to find out what happened to me,” Sephiroth hissed. He was trying to grab the disc out of Cloud’s hand, but Cloud evaded him again and tried ducking away. 

“I told you. You went crazy. After you spent too much time alone, thinking about shit that was over and done with.” Cloud threw his elbow out, catching Sephiroth in the stomach to keep himself from being restrained. “So maybe you should stop and not do it again.” 

Sephiroth actually stopped trying to overpower him and grab the DVD, just to give him a mildly incredulous look. “You can’t mean that I should just ignore how I _decapitated the alien I believed was my mother?_ ” 

Cloud held the DVD up. His hand was shaking, and his eyes felt like they were burning in his skull. “This isn’t going to change. There’s nothing you can do to make this not happen. Okay?” 

“Yes, I’m aware I can’t change the past,” Sephiroth said, biting each word in a way that let Cloud know he was annoyed, which was again very heartening as he could deal with Sephiroth when he was cranky. Just not crazy. “But how do I make sure I don’t do it _again_?” 

The irony was not lost on Cloud that he was the absolute _last_ person on Gaia who should ever tell someone to _get over it and move on_. “You just. I dunno. _Don’t._ ” 

Sephiroth let him go, moving away in a clear desire to get some space. “There has to be something more than my existential angst at work here, Cloud. Why did I leave Zack lying on the floor without bothering to kill him, yet apparently thought _you_ were enough of a threat to go back into that chamber and finish you off? You, a trooper who should have been _of absolutely no threat to me_ , why did I spend valuable time going back in that chamber to kill you?” 

Cloud shrugged. “You always underestimate me. I told you that, already.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “That’s probably why you did it, though. You were mad some _trooper_ managed to bring you down. It pissed you off.” 

“I didn’t mean that as an insult, Cloud. I simply meant that it doesn’t make sense for me to have let Zack live and try so hard to kill _you_ , I barely knew your name --” 

“That’s _why_ ,” Cloud said, very gently. “Don’t you get it? You didn’t want to kill Zack. Some part of you that remembered he was your friend. But I was nothing to you, and you were angry at me for getting in your way.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Sephiroth insisted. “I should never have gone back in there after you, it was irrational and showed a complete lack of military training and strategy. You don’t give up checkmating the king to go back and take out a single pawn.” 

Cloud stared up at the ceiling and counted to twelve. “You do if you’re pissed off at the pawn for fucking up your plan. Look, Sephiroth, here’s the only proof you need that you’re human. Humans overreact and let their emotions rule their actions. If they didn’t, I wouldn’t have picked up Zack’s sword and went running after you in the first place.” 

“Then why aren’t you trying to kill me, now, Cloud?” Sephiroth tilted his head. “The sight of what I did was enough to make you physically ill, why aren’t you coming at me with that sword of yours and putting an end to this?” 

“One, because it never seems to actually _end_ when I do that,” Cloud muttered, raking a hand through his hair, “and two, that wasn’t...it was Hojo that made me sick, not you.” 

Sephiroth made a disbelieving noise. “You looked afraid of me, when you came back inside.” 

“Because you looked at me like you weren’t there,” said Cloud. He tapped the side of his head meaningfully. “Like no one was home.” 

“Ah.” Sephiroth’s slitted eyes shifted slightly, enough so that Cloud could tell he was looking at the DVD again. “I don’t want to become what I saw on that video, Cloud. It was horrifying, to watch myself...so out of control like that.” 

“Yeah, believe me, it wasn’t that fun for me, either,” Cloud reminded him. He took a breath, then stepped closer, invading Sephiroth’s space. “Hey. Look. You can do whatever you want with this, I’m not watching it _ever again_ , but...it’s not for me to tell you what to do with it.” He handed the DVD over, and Sephiroth took it from him with a confused look. “I think you should destroy it. I think that thinking too much about _who_ and _what_ and _why_ is what drove you crazy in the first place,” he said, simply. 

“But that’s not my choice, I guess. I could break this in two and you’d just ask Tseng for another copy, I know they didn’t give you the only one, they’re _Turks_.” Cloud handed over the DVD. “I think you should get rid of it. But I also think I’m the last person who should tell anyone to let go of the past. Not like I’m that great at it, either.” 

That was an understatement. 

Sephiroth studied him for a few moments in silence, then nodded. “I will think about what you said.” 

Cloud was emotionally exhausted enough for one afternoon, so he decided that was good enough for now. He really needed a shower, and there was a horrible, unpleasant taste in his mouth from being sick earlier. “Okay.” 

He was on his way upstairs when Sephiroth said, “For what it’s worth, Cloud, it was very impressive, you throwing me with my own sword like that. ” 

Cloud didn’t say anything, but as he headed up the stairs, he felt a flash of pride in his younger self, at the ingenuity and bravery he’d shown in the moment when it mattered most. No mako-enhanced SOLDIER, just Cloud Strife from Nibelheim. 

It was the first time he’d ever felt that way about what he’d done that day in the reactor. Maybe, if there was anything to be gained from watching the surveillance footage, it was that.

* * *  
Cloud showered, brushed his teeth three times in a row, and drank a few Black Chocobo’s before going outside with his phone to call Tseng. 

“Thanks for sending over that DVD,” Cloud said, by way of greeting. 

“The president believes it was for the best,” Tseng answered, way too smoothly. 

Cloud narrowed his eyes. “But you didn’t.” 

“I chose to err more on the side of caution,” Tseng said. “And I don’t see the point in giving anyone ideas. But I’m sure you know I support Rufus’s decisions in any and all such matters.” 

Cloud barely stopped himself from making a derisive noise and said, “I want you to know. I don’t think he’s lying. I think he doesn’t remember.” 

“I assumed so.” 

Cloud made a face, because he expected that to be more of a big deal than it was to admit, but he would die before letting Tseng know that. “You did, huh.” 

“If you didn’t, you would have killed him by now.” 

That made him feel better, until he remembered Tseng was a Turk. _Kill first, so you don’t have to do it later_ was kind of their motto. “Yeah?” 

“Yes. Is there anything else, Strife?” 

“Nope. Just wanted to pass along this information you already knew.” Cloud had a sudden, horrifying thought. “Wait, Tseng?” 

“Yes?” 

“So this habit of ShinRa’s, with having surveillance cameras everywhere….?” Cloud’s face was flaming red, but he tried to keep his voice devoid of any hint of embarrassment. Luckily, he was pretty good at sounding somewhere between sad and indifferent at will. “That still a thing you do?” 

“Of course. There are cameras in our new facility, I’m surprised you haven’t seen them.” 

Sometimes, Cloud really hated Tseng. “ _Just_ in the new facility?” 

“None of the cameras in the old building are still working, except there was one in Sephiroth’s cell -- would you like to see the footage? I can sum it up for you very easily, he mostly paced, stared off into space, played with his hair or slept.” 

_Played with his hair?_ Cloud had a vivid memory of pulling at Sephiroth’s hair last night, when Sephiroth had his mouth -- 

Cloud’s face went even redder. “You don’t have cameras here, do you, Tseng? Tell me you don’t, or I’m going to track mud all over the floors.” 

“That’s a fairly innocuous threat,” Tseng responded, voice as polite as ever. “And there are two external cameras, one by the garage and the other out back by the porch. Which, as they’re both in plain sight, should be fairly easy for you to investigate. There’s also one interior camera by the front door, but that one is disabled, which again, should be rather obvious. I was under the impression you had some skill with electronics.” 

Cloud barely avoided snapping something in response to that, and instead he said, “You could send over some shinai, with the next supply order.” 

“Shinai?” 

“They’re for kendo, Tseng.” 

“Yes, thank you, I’m aware of the sport. I’m simply...surprised that you would want to engage in it, with Sephiroth of all people.”

 _Oh, that’s not the weirdest thing I’m engaging in with Sephiroth, Tseng, believe me._

“I didn’t ask you to send over masamune, did I?” Cloud paused. “Do you still have that? Rufus isn’t planning to put it up over his desk, is he? And don’t tell me he wouldn’t because he _would_ , Tseng.” 

Tseng made a noise that was supposed to be a cough, but Cloud knew very well it was hiding a laugh. “The president has placed Sephiroth’s sword in a secure location, as is proper procedure given the weapon used to murder his father.” 

“That’s why I thought he’d put it over his desk,” said Cloud. 

Tseng didn’t try and cover up his laugh, this time. “You should consider applying to the Department of Administrative Research, Cloud. You’ve more than proven you have the skills for it.” 

“Is mocking Rufus one of them, or…?”

“Of course. Why do you think Reno is the second-in-command?” 

Before Cloud could wrap his brain around Tseng telling a _joke_ , he said, “I’ll see to it that the shinai are sent over. Protective gear, as well?” 

Cloud laughed outright at that. “Tseng.” 

“Just the shinai, then.” Tseng’s voice sounded amused when he said, “Oh, and tell Sephiroth that Rufus is very pleased with the gazebo.” 

Cloud didn’t bother to answer that, but it wasn’t until after he hung up the phone that he realized Tseng had only mentioned _one_ of the cameras was disabled -- and that it wasn’t the one in the back of the house. He remembered he and Sephiroth’s almost-kiss in the gazebo and pressed his palms to his face, momentarily horrified at the thought of that being videotaped for posterity. 

He went down to the foyer and saw that yes, there was a camera that he really should have noticed before now, and a quick check showed it was indeed disconnected. Cloud stood up on a chair and aimed a roundhouse kick at it, shattering the lens with the heel of his (now mud-free) boot. 

A dramatic gesture now and then never hurt anybody, right? 

He left the exterior camera by the garage as-is, but when he went to investigate the camera around back, he saw that it was disconnected. Not only that, but the wires had been neatly sliced instead of unplugged. Cloud fingered the wires, remembering Sephiroth systematically going through and slicing all the boxes for the gazebo kit open...with a box-cutter. 

Cloud was actually _grateful_ for Sephiroth’s skill with a blade, for once. What a nice change. 

* * * 

Cloud was _not_ feeling grateful three days later, when he was lying in bed at two thirty-three in the morning, alone and frustrated with no idea what to do about it. 

The reason for his frustration was Sephiroth -- because apparently it would _never be anything else_. Cloud stared up at his ceiling, the covers kicked off the bed in a fit of temper, and wondered if he was just cursed. Maybe it was his last name. What sort of luck did that bring you, having a last name that was synonymous with _conflict_? 

_I should change it. I don’t need to be happy all the time, but it’d be nice if everything didn’t have to be such a fucking battle. Cloud Contentment, maybe. Cloud Temperance. That doesn’t sound too bad._

It was too late to be awake, given he’d gone to bed a little after eleven that night. And it wasn’t because Sephiroth had locked himself away in the den and was rewatching the footage from Nibelheim over and over again, because he wasn’t. No, he’d actually watched it enough to “make necessary notations about the events” and then, he’d very calmly handed the DVD over to Cloud. 

(Sephiroth could have made a copy. Or he could just ask Tseng to send another one, and hide it in a box of tofu or something. But Cloud decided to do what he did best, and ignore either possibility entirely.)

It was also fair to say that part of his frustration at the moment stemmed from the fact he’d...gotten used to certain things, certain _activities_ , and he was experiencing a bit of a lull in said activities as of late. 

All of that was basically just a more-complicated way of saying he missed getting laid. 

Sephiroth hadn’t turned crazy from watching the footage, but he had become...quiet. Aloof, and guarded around Cloud in that way he’d been at first, when Cloud couldn’t stand to look at him. He didn’t hound Cloud about his poor recycling habits or give him detailed lectures on the nutritional merits (or lack thereof) of his beverage choices, he didn’t even put pieces of Cloud’s jigsaw puzzle together and then pretend he hadn’t. 

Cloud would even go so far as to say he missed playing chess with Sephiroth. Though he did appreciate that the computer, while it still managed to beat him in every game, didn’t give him a rundown of his poor performance and point out all the places where he could have won. It just asked him if he wanted to _play again?_ or _save_. 

Cloud had thought maybe things would return to normal (that he and Sephiroth had a version of _normal_ was vaguely terrifying) after a few days, but no. Cloud had tried, the past two days, to try and draw him out; but Cloud _himself_ tended to be moody and withdrawn, so his attempts simply ended with Sephiroth giving him a cool stare a polite _no thank you_ , and left Cloud feeling awkward and annoyed. 

He tried to tell himself this was for the best, because what in the world was he doing, anyway? Especially because he knew Tseng had already told Rufus that Cloud didn’t believe Sephiroth was lying about losing his memory. Ostensibly Cloud was supposed to stick around in case Sephiroth went crazy again and needed someone to kill him, but for how long? 

Who decided when Sephiroth didn’t need Cloud trailing after him like some ominous, moody assassin? Cloud? Sephiroth? Rufus? This situation couldn’t endure indefinitely, there had to be some end to it. There _had_ to be. 

But _then_ what would happen? Sephiroth would be free to, what, serve as the new figurehead for ShinRa’s aggressive recycling program? Cloud liked his delivery job, it gave him a way to make money while indulging his wanderlust, and he didn’t want to give that up. Would he and Sephiroth simply part ways, trusting that the gossamer-thin strands of their tentative truce -- and Sephiroth’s sanity -- would remain unbroken, untested? 

And if not, if he actually….if _they_ actually...what the fuck was Cloud supposed to tell his friends? 

When it all became too much for even Cloud to ignore, he gave up and got out of bed, padding through the darkened hallway towards the kitchen. Maybe the computer would be too sleepy to beat him at chess, or he could work on the jigsaw puzzle. That should be mind-numbing enough to clear his head for a little while, right? 

Cloud’s enhanced senses picked up a steady _thump thump_ coming from the den. Curious, he went downstairs to investigate --and there he found Sephiroth, running on the treadmill with his eyes fixed straight ahead, mouth set in a grim line. He didn’t even look at Cloud when he spoke. “Is there a problem, Cloud?” 

“Yeah.” Cloud nodded. “There is.” 

Sephiroth’s eyes flickered towards him, then away. “And that would be?” 

“You tell me.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Cloud,” Sephiroth intoned, sounding a bit like a robot. “As I have no idea what you’re referring to.” 

“We’re talking about why you’re pretending I don’t exist.” Cloud gave a rueful shake of his head. “Your timing is so fucking lousy, seriously.” 

Sephiroth turned off the treadmill, stepping gracefully off of it and wiping the sweat from his face with a towel. He took a bottle of water and downed it thirstily. Cloud went over and looked at the mile counter on the treadmill. His eyebrows raised. “How long have you been on this thing, since Thursday?” 

“Is my use of the treadmill the problem, Cloud?” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Yeah, kinda,” Cloud said, arms crossed. “You’re not the only one who needs to expend some energy, here.” 

“I thought you didn’t like running,” Sephiroth said. “And I had no idea you’d want to do so at this hour of the morning.” 

“Would you stop it? You know what I mean.” Cloud gave him a sharp glare. “You’re avoiding me.” 

“And yet, here we are.” Sephiroth indicated the two of them with a wave of his hand. 

Cloud decided that Sephiroth’s true villanry was his ability to be both overly dramatic and overly literal at the same time. “You’ve been avoiding me since we watched that video footage.” 

“Yes, well, I’m aware my reputation as an emotionless killer might be at risk by admitting this, but it was rather upsetting to watch.” Sephiroth held up a hand. “And yes, I understand why that is likely hypocritical of me and infuriates you, so if you would spare me the lecture, it would be appreciated.” 

“Nope. Not sparing you the lecture. Payback’s a bitch.” Cloud didn’t smile, but Sephiroth should know him well enough by now to hear the thread of amusement in that, no matter how thin that thread may be. 

Sephiroth didn’t look amused, but he did look slightly aggravated. That was a start. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you.” 

“Yeah, get in line. I don’t understand me half the time, either.” Cloud reached out and took the water bottle from Sephiroth’s hand, waving it and saying threateningly, “I’m gonna throw this in the regular trash can.” 

Sephiroth’s eyes went heavenward for a moment. “The torment I am destined to suffer at your hands, it is indeed never-ending.” 

That surprised a genuine bark of laughter out of Cloud. “Yeah, well. I try.” 

Sephiroth didn’t crack a smile, but some of the coolness faded from his expression. “I have a lot on my mind, Cloud. And I’m aware I’m not...agreeable company, when I’m in this particular mood, so I’m simply sparing you the experience and keeping to myself.” 

Cloud gave him an incredulous stare. “Thanks, but if I survived you being _megalomaniacal and evil_ , I think I can handle _disagreeable_.” Cloud reached out and grabbed Sephiroth’s shirt, tugging him forward. “Is it because I killed you?”

“Is _what_ because you killed me?” 

_Why you don’t want me_. Cloud would not say that. He would _not_. “Why I’m sleeping alone.” He would, however, hint vaguely and glare. 

“I already knew that.” Sephiroth looked down at Cloud’s fingers, twisted in his shirt. “You’ve mentioned it, once or twice.” 

Cloud leaned in and bit Sephiroth’s shoulder, hard, through the fabric of his shirt. “So get the fuck over it, already. I did.” 

Cloud felt Sephiroth grab _his_ hair, fingers tangling in the unruly spikes as Sephiroth pulled him away from his shoulder. He leaned down and bit _Cloud_ on the neck, growling, “watching you kill me didn’t make me angry, Cloud. It made me want to fuck you.” 

….oh. 

Cloud pushed him away just a little, so he could see his face. “Hard to do that from a treadmill.” 

“I might hurt you, Cloud,” Sephiroth said, a look of sinister promise gleaming in his eyes, and Cloud finally figured out what it was Sephiroth was saying. 

“You _want_ to hurt me,” Cloud corrected him. “Because you lost. Right? Just admit it.” 

Sephiroth’s stare didn’t waver. “Yes.” 

Cloud realized that while blurring the lines between _fighting_ and _fucking_ had been, for him at least, a part of this since the beginning….the same was not necessarily true for Sephiroth. Or else, he hadn’t realized it quite yet. 

A dark thrill of fear went down Cloud’s spine. He smiled, a fierce sort of grin that felt a little like a snarl. “Maybe I want to hurt you, too.” 

Sephiroth’s eyes flashed, and gave Cloud a smirk that made Cloud instantly hard, and also made him want to smack it off. 

What the hell. Why not. 

Sephiroth caught his wrist before Cloud’s hand made contact. He raised an eyebrow, looking even _more_ infuriating than before. “That was as obvious as your chess moves.” 

Cloud briefly considered kicking him somewhere painful, then remembered why that would be an inconvenience and decided just to bite him instead. He pulled Sephiroth’s hair for good measure, all of that restless energy coalescing inside of him and surging forth with sudden violence. “If you want it, you’ll have to fucking _make me_.” 

Sephiroth smiled at him. “My pleasure,” he said, and gave Cloud a sweeping, elegant bow. 

Before Cloud could say something mocking in response to that dramatic gesture, Sephiroth tried to tackle him to the floor. 

He’d have to remember to mention it later. 

* * * 

By the time they got around to the part where Sephiroth actually _did_ fuck him, Cloud was so far gone he could barely remember his own _name_. 

Sephiroth had to work to get him on his back, as Cloud hadn’t made it easy in the slightest. The overturned furniture and broken knick-knacks that formed a destructive trail from the den to Cloud’s bedroom attested to that. Cloud wanted a fight, and he’d fucking gotten one. 

Which was exactly how it had to be, if someone was going to fuck him. Cloud liked it, and he definitely wanted it, but it meant flipping that switch in his brain that would let him give up control and actually enjoy it...and that wasn’t easy to do. He needed someone to make him take it, to _want_ to make him take it, and there weren’t many people around that were willing -- or able -- to do that. 

The few times he’d tried had been mildly unsatisfying at best; Cloud wasn’t gifted with words and couldn’t articulate what he wanted, meaning the encounter involved a bit too much playacting to be genuine. 

There was no playacting here, though. Cloud hadn’t held back at all, because he never did when Sephiroth was his opponent. And since they weren’t trying to kill each other, Cloud was fully able to enjoy how _thrilling_ it was, how liberating, to go up against someone of Sephiroth’s physical skill. 

It made him wish, just for a moment, that he _had_ told Tseng to send Sephiroth’s masamune instead of the kendo shinai. Too soon for that, maybe. But someday. 

When Sephiroth finally _did_ fuck him, it was exactly as overwhelming as Cloud wanted it to be. And as worked up as he was, it took barely two strokes of Sephiroth’s sinfully talented fingers on his cock before he came hard underneath him. Cloud’s palms had been pressed hard against the wall behind him, so he could meet Sephiroth’s thrusts with equal ferocity -- when the pleasure finally broke and dragged him under, Cloud’s back snapped into a hard arch and he held it there, arms trembling, until he finally let himself fall.

With the edge taken off, he could enjoy the way Sephiroth looked while he fucked him. He was as striking as ever, all bright slitted eyes and sharp cheekbones, his skin flushed and his hair a tangled _mess_ going every which way -- but there was something else, something different than drew Cloud’s wide-eyed attention and didn’t let go. 

It was the way Sephiroth was staring at him; that same consuming, focused intensity Cloud remembered from high on a ruined tower in a storm-torn sky. Because even without the malevolence, the _hatefulness_ , twisting his beautiful features into something cold and vaguely repellant, Cloud was reminded that while Sephiroth was not the child of some vengeful alien, he was not entirely human, either. For the first time, Cloud saw that _other_ -ness that pulsed just beneath the surface of his skin, running alongside the blood in his veins. 

It wasn’t terrifying, it didn’t make him angry or want to drown himself in a sea of old sorrows. It was fascinating, attractive, thrilling -- all the things Sephiroth himself was, because that _otherness_ , whether it was from Jenova’s cells or Hojo’s incessant meddling with his son’s genetics, was a part of him. It _was_ him. 

Cloud watched in rapt fascination as Sephiroth’s eyes went out of focus, lashes fluttering shut for a moment as his thrusts became erratic, his pace faster, hurried. 

Cloud took a moment to appreciate that, and then raised his right hand and smacked Sephiroth, hard, on the sight of his flushed, beautiful face. The sight of his handprint briefly staining Sephiroth’s fair skin was intensely satisfying. 

Sephiroth responded by grabbing Cloud’s wrists, slamming them down and all but collapsing on top of him -- and then biting his shoulder hard enough to break the skin when he came, which he did with a low, choked moan and a shudder that ran through his body -- and his wing, which manifested and snapped to its full extension, knocking the bedside lamp over onto the floor.

“Didn’t see that coming, did you,” Cloud managed, when he had his breath back. “Told you not to underestimate me.” 

Sephiroth lifted his head and blinked lazily at him, eyes catlike and sly, mouth slightly upturned at the corner. “If you say _checkmate_ , I’ll punch you in the dick,” he said, parroting Cloud’s own words back at him. 

Cloud gaped at him for a few seconds, then yanked one of his wrists free so he could reach out and pluck one of Sephiroth’s feathers. 

Sephiroth hit him in the side of the head with his wing, then folded it behind his back in a way Cloud would _swear_ was huffily, even if he couldn’t explain why. “I know I have extraordinary endurance, Strife, but even _I_ need a minute or two after that.” 

Cloud ignored that and drew his fingers through Sephiroth’s feathers. “Did you do that on purpose?” 

“Ah. No, it sometimes reacts...on instinct. Situationally, according to certain stimuli.” 

“I...have no idea what that means.” 

Sephiroth rolled his eyes. “It means it’s a reflex, Cloud. Any strong sensation, mentally or physically, triggers a _fight or flight_ reaction, and therefore….” Sephiroth flared his wing. 

Okay, maybe he _hadn’t_ missed Sephiroth’s lectures. “So which was it?” he asked, yawning. He felt good. Relaxed, even. Or what he assumed _relaxed_ felt like, to people who were lucky enough to feel that way. 

“Since it was you, probably both,” Sephiroth said, dryly. 

“I thought about changing my last name,” Cloud said, yawning again. He gave a slight wince when Sephiroth moved off of him, but the brief pain faded quickly. “‘Cause, you know. Maybe it’s an omen. Or something.” 

“I think it’s just you,” Sephiroth told him. 

“You don’t even _have_ a last name,” was Cloud’s brilliant retort. 

“That’s because I’m mysterious,” Sephiroth said, smugly.

Cloud realized, with as much shock as he was capable of feeling at the moment, that Sephiroth must be feeling _the exact same way_ he was. “I’m not gonna want that all the time, y’know.” 

“I believe you have access to files that literally illuminate every facet of my life, Cloud.” 

“Do you do that on purpose?” Cloud asked, turning his head to look at him. “The thing where you pretend you’re a robot when you answer questions.” 

“Sometimes,” Sephiroth answered. The _otherness_ was gone, for the most part, leaving him looking more like a sleepy cat than anything. 

“M’not gonna want to….you don’t just get to fuck me all the time." 

“Is this your way of telling me I’m not getting laid until I start cooking dinner again?” Sephiroth’s slight smile faded at the look Cloud was giving him. “What is it?” 

Cloud very rarely spoke without thinking, but it was a testament to his post-sex lassitude that he did so now. “I don’t want you to become what you were.”  
Sephiroth looked away from him, and Cloud, embarrassed at his sudden outburst, lay back down on the bed. _It was nice while it lasted, being relaxed,_ Cloud thought, unhappily. 

It was a few minutes until Sephiroth spoke. “Neither do I, Cloud,” he said, quiet voice lacking inflection in that way that meant _I don’t want you to know I have feelings_. “Neither do I.” 

That he and his former arch-nemesis were so alike might have infuriated Cloud, weeks ago. It didn’t, now. 

Cloud wanted to say _I won’t let you,_ but he didn’t. He _couldn’t_. There were too many old wounds, too many faces of people he couldn’t save. 

_If it happens, I’ll kill you. I’ll make sure you don’t come back._ As hard as he tried, Cloud couldn’t say _that_ , either. 

So Cloud said nothing at all, while all of the promises he wanted so badly to make turned to dust in his mouth.


	14. every you, every me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sephiroth figures out what might have happened in his past, talks to Rufus about his future, and gets something important back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, I'm so sorry this took me so long to update! RL things were busy, new!fandom obsession stole my brain for a bit, and I was a bit blocked on how to make this chapter proceed -- it's kind of important >> \-- but! Here we are! :D

**Chapter 14: every you, every me**

Over the next few weeks, Sephiroth gradually came to a conclusion about his mental degeneration and the probable cause -- which, probably to no one’s surprise, was Hojo. 

He spent a great deal of time studying the documents and encrypted files that Rufus sent over, but it wasn’t until he was given a handful of Hojo’s “personal journals” that he really began to put the pieces of the puzzle together. 

To the casual observer, Hojo’s journals seemed to be nothing but brief, vaguely unhelpful notations about experiments that sounded hideously dull; such as water purification techniques, or the growth rate of beans and how it was affected by multi-spectrum, ultraviolet light. 

Nothing about that sounded like anything Hojo would have given a passing thought to, much less bothered to take careful notes about, and Sephiroth said as much in frustration while flipping through them for the millionth time. Cloud, who was seemingly ignoring him in favor of yet another jigsaw puzzle (this one was the Gold Saucer), looked up and said, with his usual brevity, “Maybe it’s not really about beans.” 

Sephiroth had given him a startled look, staring in thought until Cloud threw a puzzle piece at him and told him to _stop being weird and blink_. 

“For an arch-nemesis, you are remarkably immature,” Sephiroth had told him, which resulted in Cloud tackling him, which resulted in Sephiroth not thinking about beans or anything else except subduing Cloud and his painfully pointy elbows. 

Later, he left Cloud asleep and tangled up in the bedsheets, and went back to the kitchen with the journals, a pen, and a piece of paper. He had always preferred solitude when working, and while Cloud wasn’t as disruptive as, say, Genesis -- it was still difficult to get anything done with him around.

Which, Sephiroth could grudgingly admit, wasn’t really Cloud’s fault. Sephiroth _did_ have a tendency to get fixated on things, which he figured he inherited from his father - either via genetics or Hojo’s influence during his formative years, he wasn’t sure. Still, he found it easier to concentrate when he was by himself; which of course meant that Cloud figured it out a few days later, strolling into the kitchen at three in the morning, wearing nothing but pajama pants clinging to his lean hips and a scowl. 

“This is the kind of thing crazy people do, you know,” he’d said, leaning against the wall. 

Sephiroth,momentarily distracted by the bite marks on Cloud’s chest, opened his mouth to argue...then decided he was probably right, and shrugged instead. “I know. But it’s easier for me to think when I...am not distracted.” 

“Ah.” Cloud had said, very seriously. “I distract you, is that it?” 

Sephiroth had nodded, responding just as seriously, “Yes, it distracts me how long it takes you to solve those jigsaw puzzles. They’re not that difficult, Cloud.” 

That had earned him a glare entirely lacking in heat, and something that might have been a smile had flitted briefly across Cloud’s face before he yawned, stretched in a way that Sephiroth would have sworn was deliberate, and then said, “Hojo’s probably isn’t that difficult, either. You’re probably making it too complicated. You do that, you know.” 

Sephiroth had pointedly ignored that, but it turned out to be true; the complicated code he was expecting wasn’t that complicated at all, and once he had a few pieces of it figured out, the rest fell into place relatively easily. It didn’t make sense, not entirely, but combined with Hollander’s notes and research, it at least gave him a vague idea of what had happened. 

Sephiroth had finished his research, jotted down his notes, then put everything away in neat stacks and cleaned off the kitchen table. Cloud had taken one look at him and, instead of asking him for any sort of explanation or badgering him to share what he’d discovered, asked him if he wanted to go spar. 

It took two hours of intense, almost brutal Kendo sparring before Sephiroth finally felt clear-headed enough to tell Cloud what he’d discovered. 

It was all conjecture, but Sephiroth figured that Genesis and Angeal would have never survived, even if they _hadn’t_ defected. Hollander and Hojo’s notes, as well as some files of former President Shinra’s that Rufus had sent over, made it clear that with the end of the war in Wutai would come the end of the SOLDIER program. 

ShinRa no longer needed an army or genetically-engineered weapons. They needed policymakers and publicists, marketing gurus and politicians, in order to smooth over the rippling waters between the company and the newest addition to the ShinRa empire. Subjugation was a thing of the past, what they needed now was _inclusion_. 

And what better way than to dispose of the fighting force that had won them their coveted prize, than by having them destroy not only each other, but anyone who had knowledge of their activities? 

Hollander must have manipulated Genesis into defecting; not entirely a hard sell, given Genesis’s moodiness and tendency towards the dramatic. And for all his talk of honor and loyalty, if Angeal Hewley had one crack in that stalwart honor of his, it was Genesis Rhapsodos. Perhaps Hollander hadn’t known precisely how things would play out, but it was reasonable to assume that, once Genesis was convinced to defect, ShinRa could act with extreme prejudice against their wayward SOLDIERS and have them put down. 

Genesis killed his parents, Gillian Hewley took her own life, and Banora burned to ashes and took its secrets with it. 

As for Sephiroth….

Hojo’s notes made it _very clear_ that Sephiroth was to return from Nibelheim with Jenova’s head, and put down anyone who attempted to stop him. And how convenient that the man sent with Sephiroth was the other SOLDIER First, Zack Fair -- and as anyone who knew Zack for more than ten minutes could attest, there was no _way_ he’d let Sephiroth blithely stroll out of the reactor with the decapitated head of an alien without at _least_ asking some pointed questions. 

Sephiroth was supposed to kill Zack and return with the head of Jenova -- because Hojo intended to use Jenova’s cells, along with Sephiroth’s DNA, to create a super-being….via the last remaining Cetra, Aerith Gainsborough.

Aerith; the daughter of Hojo’s hated rival, the last remaining Cetra, possessed of a power no science on Gaia could replicate. Hojo had known where she was, but Zack and the Turks made it impossible for him to take her. But send the SOLDIER boyfriend on a mission from which he wouldn’t return, send the guard-dog Turks to clean up the inevitable mess caused in Nibelheim, and who would be left to protect her? 

_Always remember, Sephiroth. The most powerful piece on the board is the Queen._

Hojo’s plan was simple; remove the rooks, the knights and the bishops and the way to the Queen is clear. Take out the Queen, and all you have left is checkmate. 

But there was one thing Hojo hadn’t counted on, and that was Cloud Strife. 

_Now you’re going to tell me it’s impossible for a pawn to take out the king._

_It’s not impossible. Just unlikely._

“So I fucked up all his plans,” Cloud said, when Sephiroth finished telling him all of this. He gave a small, fierce sort of smile. “I guess I’m better at chess than you thought, huh.” 

“Apparently,” said Sephiroth, then added after a pause, “or, at least, you seem to be when you don’t even realize you’re playing.” 

Cloud didn’t dignify that with a response. 

* * *  
“So,” Rufus said, leaning back in his deck chair. “What are you going to do, now?” 

Sephiroth studied the other man for a moment. Rufus was immaculately dressed as usual, and the affected casualness of his pose was clearly deliberate. He took a sip of his drink, idly shaking the ice cubes in the crystal tumbler as if it were some kind of cocktail. 

“Do you want me to think you’re drinking alcohol?” Sephiroth asked, tilting his head. “Because that’s just water with lime juice. I watched you prepare it.” 

Rufus’s smile reminded Sephiroth of a blade, cool and edged. “Habit. I don’t drink very much, but I’m forever at functions where I’m expected to do so. I found out if I just adopted the mannerisms, no one made too much of a fuss about what was actually in the glass.” 

 

Sephiroth gave a small nod. “Ah. A strategic deception.” 

Rufus shrugged easily. “Drinking around many of the people I know is tantamount to slicing your arm open and climbing in a shark tank.” 

“Better to be the shark, is it?” 

Rufus lifted his glass. “Always. And speaking of strategic deceptions, you haven’t answered my question.” 

Sephiroth turned his attention back to the view from the deck. It was the tail end of summer, and the rainy season had been followed by hot, muggy weather that apparently hadn’t gotten the memo that it was supposed to cool off soon. 

“I don’t know,” he said, at length, feeling Rufus’s keen eyes on him. He lowered his chin for a moment, hiding behind the long fall of his hair. The idea of _what now_ was a daunting one, mainly because, for reasons he didn’t particularly understand, it seemed to be vaguely imbued with a sense of doom when he thought about it. 

“You always have a place at ShinRa, of course.” 

Sephiroth tilted his head and gave Rufus a sideways glance. “Do I.” 

That had the effect of ruining a bit of Rufus’s calculated smugness and breezy confidence, though the man recovered admirably, saying in an _almost_ steady voice, “Yes, you do.” 

“Doing what, exactly?” Sephiroth pushed his hair back. “I have no interest in playing soldier for a corporate army, Rufus. And the next person who tries to strap me to a table and perform any kind of experiment on me is getting their neck broken.” 

“I don’t have any plans to form an army anytime soon,” Rufus answered, which, Sephiroth noticed, did not rule out the possibility entirely as much as momentarily deflect it. “And of course not, I wouldn’t expect you to want anything to do with the science department -- which, I should mention, is mostly concerned with eco-friendly and sustainable energy sources, not human experimentation.” 

“ _Mostly_ ,” said Sephiroth, in a dangerous voice, giving Rufus the same sideways glare as earlier -- only this time, without any hair in the way to dilute it. 

Rufus’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t back down -- in fact, for all his charm and easy smiles, Rufus was remarkably difficult to intimidate. “Mostly, yes. Do you want a detailed summary of each and every project we’re funding, Sephiroth? If so, say the word and I’ll call to have it prepared for you. I’m not my father, and I require a certain level of transparency in all my departments.” 

Before Sephiroth could say anything, Rufus continued, “And yes, I said a _certain_ level. I’m still running a corporation, and we no longer have the monopoly on energy sources. If I want to make up for what we’ve done to the planet, I have to have _some_ kind of proprietary claim on our research.” 

“Spare me the speeches,” Sephiroth said, coldly. “I’ve heard them all before.”

“Nonsense,” Rufus said, with a politician’s winning smile. His eyes were as cold as the ice in his glass. “My speeches are nothing like my father’s. Tseng makes sure of it.” 

Sephiroth gave a snort of surprised amusement. “Your father’s were always a bit more bombastic, I’ll give you that.” 

“He wasn’t inclined towards subtlety, was he,” Rufus agreed, taking another calculated sip of his drink. “I meant what I said, when you first...came back. I regret what my father and the company did to you, Sephiroth.” 

“Do you?” Sephiroth quirked a brow at him. “One wonders.” 

“You and Strife are both convinced I’m some kind of villainous, power-hungry madman without any sense of human decency,” Rufus snapped, some of that cool exterior cracking a bit -- though Sephiroth wouldn’t rule out the idea that even this was deliberate. 

“Oh, that’s Cloud’s default setting for most people,” Sephiroth said blandly. “Believe me. I know.” 

It was Rufus’s turn to be caught off-guard by sudden amusement, which resulted in a small, tired sort of laugh that was the most genuine expression Sephiroth had seen from the man. “I suppose you would.” 

“And I didn’t say that out of some sense of moral outrage,” Sephiroth added, quietly. “I don’t really have any right to do so, all things considered. But I don’t see you as the sort of man who suffers regrets easily. They serve no purpose.” 

“I used to think that way,” Rufus said, his own voice quiet, gaze shifting to the horizon. “And yes, maybe I don’t suffer them _easily_ , but I _do_ suffer them. On occasion.” 

“You were not responsible for what your father or Hojo did to me,” Sephiroth pointed out, a bit stiffly. He did not like to be thought of as a victim, and he certainly didn’t want anyone’s pity. 

“No, but it _is_ my company,” Rufus said, simply enough. “And I have made a promise to take responsibility for the things that have been done -- and _will_ be done -- in its name.” 

Sephiroth gave a vague nod, wanting this discussion to be over. “I don’t have any intention of working for you, Rufus.” 

“I doubted that you did,” Rufus murmured, then made a noise that, for lack of a better term, sounded like a snicker. “Though it would be funny as hell to give you an office and see what happened the first day you showed up for work.” 

That was less Tseng’s influence and more _Reno’s_ , Sephiroth thought, but didn’t say anything. “You must want something from me,” Sephiroth said, instead, watching as Rufus reacted to his sudden bluntness. “I don’t believe for a second that you don’t.” 

“Why would you think that?” Rufus asked, all business once again. 

“You kept me alive,” Sephiroth said. “You could have -- and, speaking from a purely strategic point of view, probably _should_ have -- had me killed immediately upon recognizing me.” 

“Apparently that doesn’t work so well,” Rufus demurred. “And killing you without figuring out why you came back would have been more my father’s _modus operandi_ than mine.” 

“And having some ulterior motive that would benefit you in the long run would be more of _yours_.” Sephiroth couldn’t help the slightly wicked laugh at the look of annoyance that briefly flitted across Rufus’s face. “I’ve spent enough time around Tseng, Rufus.” 

Rufus’s fair skin seemed, for a moment, to pinken just slightly. He scowled briefly, huffing out a breath and drumming his fingers on the edge of the seat. “I’m not my father, but I’m not _Tseng_ , either.” 

“I’m aware of that. But, President or not, I still recognize a Turk when I see one.” 

Rufus smiled. “Tseng will be pleased to hear you say that.”

“Because you’re having our conversation recorded?” 

Rufus gave another sharp bark of laughter. “You’re as paranoid as Cloud. He nearly went ballistic about the surveillance cameras here at the resort, according to Tseng. I’m not recording anything, for the record.” 

“But you do want something from me,” Sephiroth said, flatly. He was beginning to remember why he’d always hated dealing with politicians -- _and_ the Turks. They were fond of talking without ever really saying anything.

“I do have a favor to ask of you,” Rufus admitted, looking completely unabashed. “But you’re free to say _no_ \-- and you don’t have to kill anyone, give up any of your blood or genes or cells, or attend any horribly uncomfortable parties.” 

“I’m glad you added that last one,” Sephiroth said, bluntly. “I forgot how much I hated those.” 

“I didn’t,” Rufus said, grinning a bit, looking younger than he presented himself to be; though Sephiroth really had no idea how old Rufus _was_. Maybe Cloud’s age; it was difficult, with the missing years, to be entirely certain. “I remember you at those things. You never said a word and spent most of the time looking like you’d rather be off killing someone.” 

“Because I would have,” Sephiroth agreed, wryly. “I was far more comfortable in combat than in my dress uniform.” 

“My father said if you’d just drink some, you’d loosen up. He thought about having your drink spiked once, but Tseng suggested you might consider it an attack and react unpleasantly.” 

“React unpleasantly,” Sephiroth repeated, shaking his head. “ _Unpleasantly_.” 

“That’s actually where I got the idea to pretend to drink,” Rufus continued, almost cheerfully. “Anything that made my father nervous or suspicious seemed like a good idea to at least _try_ , even if that idea happened to be _sobriety_.” 

“This may be why people assume you are a villain,” Sephiroth pointed out. 

“ _You_ think that makes me villainous, really?” 

“No,” Sephiroth said, a thread of amusement in his voice. “But then again, I’ve met your father.” 

“Yes,” Rufus agreed, smiling, and then added with nary a change in expression, “and you killed him.” 

Sephiroth met Rufus’s gaze, unflinching. “Is the favor you want from me to pin a medal on my chest for doing so?” 

“No, that’s impractical.” Rufus gave him the same look right back. “Considering how you don’t wear a shirt with that uniform of yours.”

 _Well done, Tseng._ “That was ShinRa’s PR department’s decision,” Sephiroth said, horrified at feeling vaguely embarrassed by his uniform. “It was supposed to make me look invincible, or inhuman. I’m not sure which. I went along with it because that jacket was always too hot, and it was at least cooler without a shirt.” 

“I wondered about that.” Rufus took another sip of his drink. “What I would like is for you to come back from the dead. Officially,” he added. “It would be nice for ShinRa to give the people back a hero, instead of taking one away and lying about it.” 

“I’m nothing of the sort,” Sephiroth protested, vaguely uneasy at the thought. Not only did he abhor being in the public eye (as would anyone, who was raised in relative isolation), but it seemed rather hypocritical given what he’d done. “And that you want me to pretend to be one isn’t exactly adhering to your _standards of transparency_ , is it?” 

“That’s why I said it was a certain level,” Rufus said, unphased. “And I don’t want you to pretend at all. This isn’t about you, Sephiroth. It’s about the public perception of you.” 

“From what I understand,” Sephiroth continued, slowly, “ShinRa took responsibility for Nibelheim, for Meteor, even for Geostigma. Why aren’t you holding me accountable and putting me on trial? Wouldn’t it be better to pass that blame on someone else….considering I am the rightful cause of all of it?” 

“Because you’re not,” Rufus corrected, then amended, “all right, you’re not the _only_ cause, how’s that? ShinRa spent a great deal of time, energy and resources turning you into a weapon. I won’t let us escape the blame for that.” 

Rufus’s voice was veering into politician-tones again. “I see,” said Sephiroth. “And I suppose it would undermine the respectability and strength of leadership of ShinRa to admit they’d lied about who was at fault.” 

“Yes,” Rufus agreed. “It would. And if we’re going to be honest, which apparently we are….I don’t want the spectacle of trying and convicting you for crimes against humanity, Sephiroth. Publicly executing a former war hero doesn’t exactly fit in with the image I am trying to convey. People are tired of violence. They want peace.” 

Sephiroth stood up, walking to the edge of the patio to curl his fingers around the edge of the railing. He could see the gazebo he’d built in the yard below, and from in the house, he could hear Reno’s loud, cheerful voice and Cloud’s lower, more sedate one. 

“How would giving the people back a war hero help anything? I’m a killer, Rufus. A weapon. That’s all I’ve ever been, and if people are tired of violence, how can it help your image to remind them of that?” 

“Because as you have made abundantly clear,” Rufus said in a soft voice, “you are not interested in being ShinRa’s weapon any longer. Isn’t that right?”

The sun was beginning to set behind the canopy of trees, bringing some relief to the heat. “That’s right.” 

“And I can’t think of a more inspiring, appropriate way to convince the people that ShinRa is committed to making peace with the planet...than by disarming the most dangerous weapon we’ve ever created. Or, as it were, having that weapon disarm _himself_. Publicly. Does that answer your question?” 

Sephiroth turned slowly, meeting Rufus’s cool gaze. “What is it you want me to do, exactly?” 

“Put on your uniform, one last time. Stand next to me at a press conference, let me tell the world the _why’s_ and _how’s_ of your return, and then make a statement about how you are laying down your arms and embracing the life of a private citizen. You could throw in a line or two about your obsessive insistence on recycling, if you wanted,” Rufus added, waving a hand. “But that’s up to you. You’ve attended press conferences before, I recall.” 

“Yes. But I never spoke at any of them.” The former president had expressed interest, occasionally, in having Sephiroth do so; but Lazard convinced him otherwise, saying that to have their prize SOLDIER give any kind of speech might ruin his mystique. 

It was an absurd reason, but it worked; and Lazard knew how Sephiroth hated the idea of speaking in public, so it was clearly a tactic to spare Sephiroth from having to do so. 

_I owe you for that, Lazard._

How many people, Sephiroth wondered, did he owe similar debts? How many of them died because of him? 

“I know. It’s like the uniform -- my father wanted you dehumanized,” Rufus said, drawing Sephiroth’s attention back to him. “I don’t. I want the opposite, in fact.” 

“Hmm.” Sephiroth gave a small, humorless laugh. “If you really wanted to make up for what _your company_ did to me, Rufus, you would leave me alone.” 

“And I will, if that’s what you want. After you do this for me, I would say we could consider our debts paid, yes?” Rufus came to stand next to him at the railing. “You can say no, of course, but do remember I gave you the opportunity to prove you weren’t lying about your memory loss...as well as access to all the answers you wanted, so that you could finally put _your_ past behind _you_.” 

Basically, Rufus was telling him that he couldn’t very well say _no_ to what was, Sephiroth supposed, a fairly simple request. “I won’t say no, Rufus. As I’m sure you are aware.” 

“I didn’t think you would,” Rufus said, pleased. He tossed the remainder of his drink over the railing. “You’ll be given back pay for your service, of course. I can arrange for an apartment for you, in Edge, if you’d like.” 

“I’m not moving to Midgar,” Sephiroth said, flatly, unused to calling it anything else and uninterested in trying to remember to do so. 

“Well, wherever it is you want to go, we can make sure you’re comfortable.” 

Sephiroth made a face at the word _comfortable_. He really _was_ retiring, apparently, but what other choice did he have? And still, after his little dog-and-pony show for Rufus was complete, when he was finally free of ShinRa’s yoke -- what was he supposed to _do_? 

All he really knew how to do was kill. He was young enough that he could learn some other trade, but he couldn’t imagine what that might _be_. Maybe gazebos. Probably not. 

“I’m pleased this worked out,” Rufus said, and held his hand out to Sephiroth. 

Sephiroth shook his hand, feeling a bit out of sorts. “I wonder what the world would have been like, Rufus, if you’d inherited a company at the height of its power, instead of one that buckled beneath the weight of it.” 

“It’s too bad you didn’t kill my father sooner, and we might have found out,” Rufus said, dusting his hands over his immaculate white suit. 

“It’s too bad _you_ didn’t,” Sephiroth responded, like a little boy on the playground. _I know you are, but what am I?_

“It wasn’t for lack of trying, believe me,” Rufus said, smirking. “But I like a challenge. And I like the idea of building something that’s mine,” he added, offering a rare insight that seemed, to Sephiroth anyway, to be genuine enough. 

“Speaking of, that reminds me,” Rufus said, turning towards the door. “I have something of _yours_ to give back. And then we should be going. Reno’s flying is scary enough when there’s daylight.” 

Sephiroth followed him inside. Cloud was in the kitchen, drinking a beer while Reno told him some story that involved a lot of hand gestures. He gave Sephiroth a look that clearly said _it’s about time, why did you leave me with him_. 

“And _then_ , right, me n’ Rude were hiding in the closet and the two chicks started making out, which, cool, but there’re these two _monkeys_ , okay, just go with it --” 

Rufus cast his eyes to the ceiling before saying, in a firm voice, “Reno.” 

Reno cleared his throat, stopping in the middle of his story. “Ah, yeah. Hi, boss. You ready?” 

Rufus nodded, and Reno gave a mock salute and strolled out of the room, whistling. 

“Oh,” Rufus said, snapping his fingers. “I forgot.” He reached in his jacket pocket and drew out an envelope, which Sephiroth was a hundred percent certain he had _not_ forgotten at all, but had merely waited to give to him. “I thought you might want these.” 

Sephiroth had the urge to tuck the envelope away, or put it on the table untouched, since it was clear Rufus _wanted_ him to open it. But his curiosity got the better of him, and he slid his finger under the edge. 

“Is that more surveillance footage of me kicking your ass?” Cloud piped up, from the kitchen. 

“No, it’s a DVD entitled _How to Teach Chess to Children_ ,” Sephiroth answered, a bit distractedly, and missed Rufus’s odd look because he finally saw what was in the envelope. 

Photographs. Some were from the files he’d read, of him and Genesis and Angeal in various configurations, and even the ones of his parents, on which Hojo had written _L: 3 mos_ on the back. And there were others, but Sephiroth didn’t have time to look at them; because just as an odd prickle of awareness ran down his spine, Reno came back into the kitchen. 

Holding - very gingerly - a familiar sword in his hands. “How the hell do you even _carry_ this thing?” he mumbled. “S’the same fucking size as a helicopter blade.” 

The fingers on Sephiroth’s left hand twitched. 

“I thought you should have this back,” Rufus said, to Sephiroth. 

“Try not to impale Cloud on it, yo,” Reno added. 

“Hey,” Cloud interjected, but Sephiroth could feel those bright eyes on him as he moved forward to take his sword. 

The hilt of the masamune slid into his hand, a comfortable fit and a familiar weight; Sephiroth smiled, and he was so pleased to have his sword back that he could ignore the slight tendril of dread curling unpleasantly in his stomach. 

“Don’t forget to bring that to the press conference,” said Rufus, ever the politician. 

Sephiroth didn’t bother to acknowledge that, because how absurd to think he’d _forget_ something like that. 

“You gonna get a picture with him, boss, and put it up on the wall in your office?” Reno asked slyly, elbowing Rufus. “You can put it next to the one of you and Cloudy, here.” 

“Don’t _call_ me that,” Cloud protested, but with a sigh, as if he knew it would do absolutely no good. 

“There’s a picture of you on his office wall?” Sephiroth asked, distracted for a moment by this information. “Why?”

“I got a medal,” Cloud said, dryly. “For defeating you. On Advent Day.” 

An awkward moment of silence followed that revelation, before Rufus said, “I’ll be in touch. It shouldn’t be more than a few days at the most. There are a couple more details to arrange, and we should be good to go.” 

“You already started planning this, didn’t you,” Sephiroth said, feeling a bit ridiculous in casual clothes and holding an eight-foot sword -- and wanting nothing more than to go outside and lose himself in a few forms, feel himself connect with his weapon, the only thing he’d ever really trusted. 

Rufus gave him a cheshire grin and said, “Time to go, Reno.” 

“See ya, Cloudy. Bye, Sephiroth.” Reno chuckled. “Wow, there’s something I never thought I’d hear myself say. Right along with _Hey, Sephiroth, here’s that gazebo you ordered._ ” 

“You only said he couldn’t impale _me_ , Reno,” Cloud pointed out. “You’re fair game, probably.” 

“I got a gun, yo,” Reno said, but with his usual smirk. “And I’m pretty goddamn fast with it.” 

“I’ve heard,” Sephiroth said, turning his wrist so the sword was extended its full length -- the wicked tip of the blade stopping just short of Reno’s throat. “So am I.” 

Cloud hid something that might have been a laugh in a cough. As he lowered his blade, Sephiroth watched Reno and Rufus exchange a covert glance before heading out the door. 

He and Cloud were silent until they heard the whirl of the helicopter fade off into the distance. 

“They know we’re sleeping together,” Sephiroth said, apropos of nothing. 

“Huh?” Cloud blinked. “How?” His expression darkened. “Surveillance?” he hissed, arms crossing over his chest. “I _knew_ Tseng was lying about there not being any more cameras. I _knew_ it.” 

“I think it was the part where you laughed when I drew my sword and pointed it at a man’s throat,” Sephiroth offered in explanation. 

Cloud waved a hand. “It was just _Reno_ ,” he protested, but his face was reddening a little. He looked at the sword in Sephiroth’s hand, and then back at Sephiroth’s face -- and gave that small smile of his. “Go on.” 

“What?” Sephiroth’s brow furrowed. “Where?” 

Cloud gave a pointed look outside. “It’s getting dark out. And we probably shouldn’t break anymore stuff, so you can’t really do anything with that sword inside.” If Cloud had a problem with Sephiroth’s having a weapon, it didn’t show. “Seriously, go. I can make dinner.” 

Sephiroth gave him a suspicious look. “Can you?” 

“I can heat up the leftovers,” Cloud muttered, waving his hand again. “What? I _can_.” 

“Don’t turn the oven up too high.” 

“I won’t.” 

Sephiroth paused on his way to the door. “Make sure to cover the dish or else it won’t get cooked all the way through.” 

Cloud threw a bottle of water at him. “ _Go_ , already,” he said, and Sephiroth went. 

He came inside when the moon was high, covered in sweat and satisfied in a way he hadn’t been in a very long time; there was something soothing, relaxing, about training. That he had nothing to train _for_ was almost better -- it made it a treat, doing something just because he wanted to. 

Cloud left him some dinner -- vegetable lasagna -- in a small container, which he placed in the fridge. Sephiroth poked it with a fork; sure enough, the middle section was frozen. 

He ate a peanut butter sandwich instead, cleaned up, showered, and went to find Cloud. 

* * * 

The next day, Sephiroth watched as Cloud finished assembling the smaller blades of his sword into one larger one. “So you found yourself a sword that was a puzzle. You’re very strange, Strife.” 

“I can’t believe a man with hair down his back and an eight-foot sword just said that to me.” Cloud stood up, tested the weight of his sword, then went back down on his knees to make some other kind of adjustment. 

“And it takes you just as long to put it together, I see.” 

“I kicked your ass all over Midgar with this sword,” Cloud said, in a bizarrely cheerful voice.  
He’d been like that all morning, since he’d asked Sephiroth if he wanted to spar. 

Sephiroth, who thought he meant kendo, made a joke about wooden sticks (it wasn’t funny, because he was terrible at jokes; but Cloud wasn’t much better, so he laughed anyway) until he realized Cloud wanted to spar not with shinai, but with _blades_. 

“I must have been out of shape,” Sephiroth said, and Cloud flipped him off without looking up from his sword. “Now, now, Strife. And here I thought I was the one who did the dramatic gestures.” 

“And the monologuing. Which you’re doing now.” Cloud stood up once more, testing the sword, and nodded -- but just as Sephiroth shifted into a ready stance, Cloud shook his head and said, “Wait. No. One sec.” 

“You’re nervous, aren’t you,” Sephiroth said, a little smugly. “So you’re stalling.” 

Cloud glanced up at him from his crouch. “Of course I’m nervous. You’ve impaled me with that sword _twice_. And you’re pretty good, and you’ve tried to kill me _multiple times_.” 

“This was your idea,” Sephiroth reminded him, a bit huffily. _Pretty good_. Tch. _I’ll show you pretty good, Strife._

“I know.” Cloud hopped to his feet, tested his sword -- for what, Sephiroth wasn’t entirely sure -- and then nodded. “This is it. I’m good.” He shifted into his stance, and Sephiroth drew his sword over his shoulder -- 

\-- and then sighed when Cloud _stood_ there, grinning like a loon. “What is the matter with you, Cloud? Somehow I don’t think you smiled this much when we’re fighting to the death.” 

“No. That’s just it.” Cloud’s smile was nearly blinding. “I used to dream about doing this with you. Sparring for, y’know, practice. Not the fate of the world. The closest I ever came was when we killed that dragon on the way to Nibelheim, right before….before.” 

Sephiroth’s eyebrows raised. “ _We_ killed the dragon?” 

“I helped,” Cloud said, and Sephiroth wondered if he’d ever seen Cloud Strife this…. _happy_ , before. Cloud laughed, the sound bright and unencumbered by bitterness or anger. “I just...thought I’d missed my chance, that’s all.” 

The dread Sephiroth had been trying so hard to ignore snaked up and coiled tight around him, but Sephiroth refused to acknowledge it. If Cloud wanted to spar, then Sephiroth would do it despite his misgivings; which had been plaguing him since Cloud brought it up that morning. 

Still. He’d taken many things away from Cloud Strife, but this one -- this one, he could give back. And so he would. 

If Cloud was ever going to be ready to get on with it. 

“And if you don’t get on with it, you’ll miss this one,” Sephiroth said, idly, sword at the ready. 

Cloud grinned again, like a kid in a candy shop. “I almost don’t know what to do, without the dramatic gestures. You always go first.” 

Sephiroth rolled his eyes as dramatically as possible, and rushed him. 

Cloud backflipped away, making a noise that sounded almost like a _giggle_. “Wow, telegraph much?” 

“I’m beginning to see why I stab you so often,” Sephiroth said, sliding back into his ready stance, sword drawn over his shoulder. 

“You’re just _now_ beginning to see that? Or you can admit it, now that I know you’re not crazy and don’t mean it?” Cloud took a ready position, but instead of rushing him, Sephiroth lowered his sword and went over to correct his stance. 

It was several minutes before they actually crossed blades, given that Cloud’s preference seemed to be _jumping up and moving around like a tornado_. It was a bit like sparring Genesis, albeit with less posturing and _Loveless_ recitations. 

But Sephiroth was very good, and he managed to turn the right way and catch Cloud on one of those flips of his, and with a flick of his wrist, masamune’s blade met Cloud’s with a slight singing sound. Unremarkable contact, not enough to stop the match by any means. 

Except that the moment their blades touched, every single thing Sephiroth had forgotten about his past came back to him, as if it had never been gone. 

There was no dramatic moment, no crash of sudden thunder or swirling of preternatural clouds; it was as instinctive as breathing, like that first moment of waking up. He simply went from not-knowing to knowing, with hardly a heartbeat in between. 

Sephiroth stood in the sunlight with his sword raised, staring at a man for whom his hate was so strong, not even death could take it away -- stood there and _remembered_ all of it, everything he’d forgotten -- 

(The vicious agony of being electrocuted, the hopeless plea of _Mother, save me_ as he’d fallen down the reactor, answered only by a shattered spine before the world went dark --

\--- dying with the taste of ashes in his mouth beneath a cold, empty sky, dark in the absence of meteor’s holy light -- 

\-- suspended high above a ruined empire, a bright flash of blue and being torn into pieces, strewn into the wind, fluttering back to the darkness, always the dark.) 

And everything he hadn’t forgotten, but wished for one desperate moment that he could. 

(Cloud preening his wing, tugging leaves and twigs from his feathers with gentle fingers -- 

Cloud astride him in bed that morning, head thrown back, throat bared as he rode Sephiroth hard and fast, one hand buried in Sephiroth’s hair, the other braced against the wall --

Sunlight in his eyes while he built a gazebo, the feel of sweat on his neck, kissing Cloud in the stifling heat. ) 

Because if he could forget all of that, if he could remember only the hate and the pain -- then he might be able to stand there and enjoy watching all the joy, all the light, fade from Cloud Strife’s eyes.


	15. the bitter end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's more than one way out of a maze, and Cloud finally decides to try a different exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....better late than never? :D?

Cloud knew the exact moment Sephiroth regained his memories. It was a chill in his blood that unmistakable in its origin, as familiar as the malevolence now gleaming in Sephiroth’s eyes.

But there was something else, there, too. Something that suggested the man Cloud had come to know over the last few months hadn’t been completely devoured by the monster from his nightmares. It was the slightest hint of a drawn brow, the minute tightening of the lines around his mouth.

The fact he lowered his sword and took a step backward.

Something about that made Cloud’s chin raise, and finally provoked him into action. If Sephiroth --his Sephiroth -- was still in there, then the monster didn’t have to win. “You got your memory back.”

Sephiroth tilted his head, and it was only his hair being in a ponytail that kept the sight from chilling Cloud right to the bone. The ponytail humanized him in a way nothing else could. “There was a trigger implanted in my memory. If you and I were to engage once more in a duel, the clash of our swords would cause my memory to return.”

Cloud blinked. Then scowled. “That was stupid.”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Cloud wasn’t going to be afraid of him. He’d fought this man to the death three times, and he’d gone to bed with him and played chess with him and sort of helped him build a gazebo.

Cloud finally lowered his own weapon, because this evasive shit – this wasn’t Sephiroth’s usual battlefield monologue, comprised of sweeping statements delivered in his quiet, near-monotone. This was Sephiroth who frowned when Cloud put too much cheese on his omelet. “Why?” 

Something that wasn’t malice flashed in Sephiroth’s eyes. Annoyance, irritation -- whatever it was, it was a human emotion and seeing it there gave Cloud the confidence he needed to move closer. “Complex reasons.”

Cloud heard himself give a disbelieving snort. “Yeah. I bet. _Travel the cosmos on the planet_ complex, or _get rid of Cloud Strife_ complex, or…?”

“How interesting you assign yourself such importance after the Planet,” said Sephiroth.

Even human Sephiroth was more than a little grandiose on occasion. Cloud thought how best to answer. “Try explaining them to me.”  

A flash of honest irritation disrupted the inhuman vacantness of Sephiroth’s features. “I assumed the only reason we’d meet in combat would be the usual.”

“You know what they say. About assuming.” Cloud moved closer, his fear edged out by tiredness so bone-deep he could barely stand it. “So, why aren’t you trying to kill me?”

Sephiroth laughed, a horrible sound that made Cloud wince before he could help himself.  “I don’t know. Why aren’t you afraid of me?” 

Cloud thought about that. “You were the one who forgot, not me. I’ve always known who and what you are.”

Sephiroth didn’t seem to know what to say to that. He lowered the masamune slowly so that the tip was pointed at the ground. Around them, the sunlight shone and the birds twittered – the gazebo they’d built together stood ready to be destroyed by their apparently inevitable enmity.

Cloud sighed. He stared up at the sky. “I don’t want to do this again. Did you make yourself forget everything you did just so I'd go to bed with you? I have to tell you, I never took you for the seduce-your-enemy type.”

Sephiroth was quiet for so long that Cloud wasn’t sure he was going to answer. “The only thing that ever gave me consciousness, gave me purpose, was hate. Specifically, hating you.”

There was something missing, here – some piece of the puzzle that would join it all together and make it complete. Cloud sifted around all of the information, trying to find it. “You didn’t come here to kill me or we'd be fighting right now."

“I think I came here because I want it to be over,” Sephiroth said, and for a moment he sounded as tired as Cloud. “The Lifestream takes all of what we are back into itself, Cloud. Reduced to nothing, I couldn’t sleep. I could only exist, and hate, and dream of killing you over and over and over.”

It was a chilling thing to hear from a man Cloud had been sleeping with, regardless of the fact there was some hint of humanity in Sephiroth’s voice. Maybe that was why.

Sephiroth took a step closer to him. Cloud had never once backed away from him, and he didn't intend to start now.

Sephiroth studied Cloud for a long minute, then pressed the hilt of the masamune into Cloud's hand. Cloud's breath caught and his blood ran cold. “What--” 

“You promised,” Sephiroth said, leaning forward so that his mouth brushed gently across Cloud’s temple -- somehow, the oddly sweet gesture was nearly Cloud's undoing. “You promised to make sure I wouldn’t come back.”

“Sephiroth.” Cloud didn't know what else to say.

Sephiroth’s grip on Cloud’s shoulder tightened almost painfully. “Take your vengeance, Cloud. Take it for Nibelheim, for Zack, for Aerith, for all of it. This is the only way I won’t come back.”

Cloud pushed away from him, breathing hard. He still wasn't entirely sure what brought Sephiroth out of the darkness or why, but he understood that to kill him, here and now, would send him somewhere from which he could no longer return.

“You’re not – you’re not just a monster. You're still there, too,” Cloud protested. “If all you were was crazy, you’d be laughing maniacally over my corpse because you would have already killed me.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Sephiroth was staring hard at him. “That part of me that wanted to end the world is still there, Cloud. I can feel it. It lives inside of me, and I can’t change that. Part of me wants to watch you bleed while the world goes up in flames and I dance in its ashes.”

“OKay, now you’re veering a little too close to megalomaniacal,” Cloud warned, but he believed every word of it. He could see it, like he could the night he’d seen that _other_ swimming so close to Sephiroth’s skin, like water pushing against a levee and trying to make it break.

He scowled. The sun was in his eyes, and the masamune’s handle felt like death in his grip. “You didn’t come here to fight me, Sephiroth. You came here to stop hating me so that I could kill you, and you could finally rest.”

Sephiroth’s face went blank again, and he laughed – cold slick silk slid down Cloud’s spine, but he held his ground. He knew Sephiroth when he was nothing but an empty vessel for Hojo’s mad ambition and Jenova’s poison. That wasn't who he was looking at right now. Or, that's not all he was.

“Then kill me,” Sephiroth said. He tilted his chin up, still imperious, like a king awaiting execution. “I’ve taken everything away from you, everything you love.” His smile was cruel, but still more human than it had been that day on the remains of the old Shinra Tower. “Send me to hell with the sword I used to take it from you, Cloud. It’s fitting.”

“If I’m as dramatic as you, maybe, but I’m not.” Cloud held the sword up, watching the blade gleam in the sun. They’d never fought in the sun before, he didn't think. Cloud was looking at a blade but thinking about a flower; the one he’d handed to a homeless woman a few months ago outside Aerith's church.

He was thinking about a voice telling him _there is more than one way out of a maze._

Cloud lifted the masamune, hefted its weight. It was taller than he was, nearly impossible to hold. His arm protested the unfamiliar blade, but that didn’t much matter. He could manage a clean slice or a sure thrust, and either would do what Sephiroth wanted. It didn’t have to be pretty.

“Cloud,” said Sephiroth, voice quiet. “You promised.”

The truth of it settled gently around him like a summer’s rain, like cool water flowing around ancient stones, like the shadowy dim respite of an ancient church. “If all we do is hate each other, Sephiroth, this will never end. Killing you won’t stop anything. It’ll just start it all over again.”

Cloud glanced up at the bright blue sky, and he saw the way out of the maze at last. _I get it, Aerith. I think I do, anyway._

The birds might have sung a little louder, but it could have been Cloud’s imagination. He raised Sephiroth’s sword and said, “You want me to end this? Fine. I’ll end it.”

He leveled the tip of the blade against Sephiroth’s heart. “I forgive you. For all of it. For Nibelheim, For Zack, for Aerith, and the rest of it.” Cloud dropped the masamune on the ground between them. “The only battle you have left to fight is the one against yourself, and that has nothing to do with me.”

With that, he turned and walked towards the house, leaving Sephiroth standing in the garden, the light glinting off the blade that lay at his feet.

* * *

He found Sephiroth a few hours later, standing in front of the television and watching the footage from Nibelheim.

“You were right,” Sephiroth said, without glancing up as Cloud entered the room. “I didn’t want to hurt Zack. But I didn’t come back to kill you because you insulted me by besting me in the reactor.”

Cloud glanced at the screen, and then at Sephiroth’s face. He half-expected Sephiroth might be smirking this time, when he watched himself impale Cloud on the masamune, since he had his memories back. But he wasn't, though the touch of alien remoteness on his features did give Cloud a bit of a pause.

“Then why did you?” he asked.

“Jenova told me to.” Sephiroth glanced over at him. “She must have known what you would be to me.”

“Then she should have told you to leave me be.” Cloud glanced at his younger self, unable to stop the wince at the sight of himself dangling on the end of a sword blade. His chest ached in phantom sympathy. He gestured at the footage.“Now that your memories are back, you're saying it doesn't make you even a _little_ happy to see me like that?”

“Well. Maybe it makes me a little happy.” Sephiroth shrugged. “If only in hindsight. I thought perhaps I would have...more of an idea why I behaved this way, but other than finally understanding my desire to kill you...I don't.”

Cloud wasn’t interested in watching the rest of it, so he turned around to leave.

“Should I be expecting the Turks?”

That stopped Cloud in his tracks. “Huh?”

“You told Rufus, I presume,” said Sephiroth. “That my memories have returned.”

Gods, grant him patience. “No, why would I do that? I don’t really like Rufus, and I sure as hell don’t trust him.”

“And yet you trust me?” Sephiroth scoffed. “Even after this?”

Cloud looked over his shoulder to see Sephiroth gesturing at the television. He felt very, very tired. “Yeah. I guess. I don't think you're going to try and kill me, because I don't think you want to. I think that probably makes you mad, but it doesn't matter. I’m not your keeper, Sephiroth. I’ve forgiven you. Raise your hand against me or mine again, and I’ll fight back to keep them safe. But I’m not going to kill you so that you can get over feeling guilty. It wouldn’t work, anyway.”

Sephiroth turned back to the video, and Cloud left him alone with the past. _Make peace with it,_ he thought, _if you can._

_****_

_Cloud is walking down a path flanked by brightly-hued flowers, beautiful lush things in vibrant shades of orange and pink and maroon, butterflies and bumblebees dancing around the blooms in ecstasy._

_“Only you would have bugs in your afterlife,” Cloud says, reaching out. The petals feel like silk beneath his fingers._

_“They are creatures same as we are,” Aerith’s sweet voice says, seemingly right next to him, though Cloud knows he is walking this path alone. “And in some cases, far more useful.”_

_Cloud smiles briefly and continues toward the thatched-roof hut. Around him, the grass stretches wide, a sea of growing green dappled with yellow and purple wildflowers. He can see the sun glinting off the surface of a lake. There are no monsters to fight, not here._

_It’s nice, but Cloud’s not sure he could handle it if this were his afterlife. No place to ride Fenrir, for one._

_“Roads appear where you need them, when you need them,” Aerith says, and Cloud swats at her voice like she’s an errant butterfly – though nothing here is errant, Aerith least of all._

_He walks up to the hut and knocks three times on the door. The wood is sturdy, but smooth as he runs his fingers over the grain._

_“Come in!”_

_Cloud pushes the door open and walks inside. The hut’s interior is a strange, soft blur, as if his mind can’t quite fill in the blanks of domestic perfection as easily as it can the garden landscape. Fair enough. He turns and finds Aerith in the kitchen, stirring something on a pot._

_“Cloud!” She claps her hands together and beams at him. “Hello!”_

_Cloud is caught up for a moment in the sight of her, standing in the sunlight and shining brighter than any star, as perfect and vibrant as any flower, as unique as any butterfly._

_She giggles, apparently able to hear his inner thoughts in the dream. “You’re a poet, who knew.”_

_It’s a gentle tease, and Cloud thinks maybe he’s blushing. He wants to hug her, but somehow, he knows he can’t. As much as he wants to, he can’t quite cross from the foyer into the kitchen or the rest of the house. It's as if he's stuck by some magic in the foyer. Maybe she doesn't want him trailing dirt in with his shoes._

_“Not time for you to come in quite yet,” she says, returning to the pot._

_“Is Zack….?” Cloud glances down, feeling stupid for even asking, when he knows the answer._

_“He wanted to be here,” she says. “He really, really did. He does, every time, but his time especially. Still, I told him no. It’s not time for that, either,” she says, gently, because Cloud isn’t looking at her but he’s sure she can feel his sharp pang of sorrow._

_I miss him, Cloud thinks._

_“I know,” Aerith says, sweetly. “This is almost done, but a few more herbs, I think….one day you’ll be able to eat dinner here, too, and you’ll love this stew. I’ll make it again when you can sit at the table.”_

_“And when’s that?”_

_“When you’re here and not there,” Aerith says, glancing up at him. She points the spoon she’s been using to stir the – whatever she’s making, it really does smell heavenly – at him. “No tricking me into telling you things you shouldn’t know.”_

_“Aerith,” he says, because this is the longest he’s been around her since – since a long time, and the strongest he’s seen her, even if the details of the cottage are starting to fade into polygons and indistinct blurs around the two of them. He is someplace not meant to make memories. “I’m dreaming, but this is really you, right?”_

_“You have to ask?” She giggles again, the sound light, and so happy it makes him ache. He never loved her like_ Zach _did, but he still loved her._

_“Oh, Cloud.” She presses a hand to her chest and sighs. She seems so profoundly at peace, Cloud almost envies her. “I told him it would work.”_

_“Told who?” Asks Cloud, but he already knows._

_She answers anyway. “Sephiroth. We had a little…let’s just say we had a little chat and I had to convince him it would work.”_

_“You made a deal with the man who killed you,” Cloud says, flatly._

_“You did a lot more than that with him,” Aerith responds pertly, and all right, he’s definitely blushing. She grins, unrepentant. “And yes. I’ve tried before, many times, but it’s never worked. A few times he wasn’t ready to reach out. Then, I couldn’t get him to listen, much less try. But this time…I had a good feeling about this time.”_

_“He’s – this has happened before?”_

_“Of course,” she says, head tilted. “Many times. Just like everything else.” She takes a taste of the dish in the pot, stirs it, and puts the lid on it again. “We don’t have much time, but I’ll try and explain, if I can.”_

_Suddenly the cottage is gone and they are standing outside in what appears to be a forest – this is no neatly-maintained cornucopia of flowers, no expanse of gently-swelling meadows or sparkling lakes. This is a forest with limbs gnarled and unbared, tangled together in messy shapes, the living things pulsing and feeding off each other and the stream that flows through it all._

_The Lifestream. It pulses with light so bright that Cloud cannot look at it for more than a second._

_“At first, he was a darkness polluting the waters,” she says, and points. Cloud is able to see black, pulsing threads running through the pure stream of light. “I would tug on these threads and sometimes they would slip through my hands. Sometimes what I pulled up was a monster such as we never saw, even in our long journey when I was among you, and it snarled and bit and tried to pull me in with it.” She smiles. “And a few times there was a man on the other end. But mostly it was something caught between the two, unsure what it really was.”_

_“Sephiroth,” says Cloud, unnecessarily. He has to look away from the Lifestream. “I’m sorry, I can’t…it’s hard too look at.”_

_“Because you’re within it,” she says, “Even if, for this little while, you’re not quite. It’s hard to explain, I’m sorry! But trust me, Cloud. Everything is going to be all right.”_

_“You always say that, and then I usually have to fight a monster and end up with a few new scars,” Cloud mutters, and she laughs._

_“And you always win, just like you did this time.”_

_“I didn’t fight him, this time,” he reminds her._

_She steps closer, enough that he wishes he could reach out and take her hands in his. “It wasn't him you were supposed to fight, Cloud. Just as Sephiroth's battle was with himself, yours was with _you_. You fought your guilt, you fought your hate, and you won. You forgave him.” She nods once more toward the Lifestream, and he’s surprised to find some of the black tendrils have faded away. _

_“I was poisoning the Lifestream?” Great, now he can feel guilty about that, too._

_“Not the planet’s so much as your own,” she says. “As this is, here…so it is, here.” She pats her chest, where her heart would be. If Sephiroth had not run her through—_

_“I forgave him,” she says, firmly. “And so have you. He might not have forgiven himself, not yet, but I think he will be able to. Eventually. Poison is not siphoned out all at once, and it isn’t without its own suffering. But it will happen, if the antidote is strong enough.”_

_“The antidote,” Cloud says, in a voice that suggests he knows exactly what she’s going to say and doesn’t want to hear it._

_“Then I won’t bother saying it,” she replies pertly. “But not because you know what it is. This time, you feel it.”_

_“You said he made a deal with you,” Cloud says, ignoring the implications for a moment of what it means that he might be (“Is,” Aerith murmurs) in love with Sephiroth. “What was it?”_

_“He asked me to end it, to send him into the dark. But I said the darkness would not welcome him, only harbor him as it has always done. If he truly wanted to be free of what keeps him from becoming one with the light, he needed to free himself from hate.”_

_“So you sent him back with no memories.”_

_“No, I sent him back so he could remember the ones that mattered.” She glances off to the side, and then points. “See?”_

_They are no longer in a clearing, but what appears to be a living room. Cloud’s head swims a bit at the change from the Lifestream to a bland interior of an apartment. It's vaguely familiar in a way that Cloud recognizes as the old Shinra complex. There is a man on the couch, eating an apple and reading a book, his hair the same color as his coat._

_“I don’t think I should have to go to this party,” he says. He does not glance up at Cloud or Aerith, which Cloud understands means he cannot see them. And of course he can't. Cloud doesn't remember much of it, but he knows this man, Genesis Rhapsodos, is dead._

_“I don’t think I should have to, either,” says another, and this man, Cloud recognizes. Angeal Hewley, Zack’s mentor, dark hair neatly pulled back from a strong, handsome face. He is in various stages of dress, suit pants and a button-down white shirt, his tie askew and untied. "Who wants to talk to SOLDIERS at a fundraising party?_

_“People like to see their investments, I suppose. Seph, he a dear and make our excuses,” says Genesis. He glances up and smiles at Angeal. “Though I do quite like you in that suit. A shame you're wearing it to attend a boring Shinra event.” He takes a vicious bite of the apple, eyes appreciative as they run over Angeal. "I'm going like this, and if they have a problem, they're free to send me home."_

_“If I have to go, you’re going. Both of you.”_

_Cloud turns at the sound of Sephiroth's voice. He looks younger than Cloud's ever seen him, likely not a day over twenty. His hair isn't nearly as long as it is now, even his bangs are shorter. He's half-dressed as well in suit pants and crisp white shirt over a white undershirt, the buttons undone and his tie nowhere to be found._

_“Appeal to my better nature, then, if you want my company,” says Genesis._

_“I wasn't aware you had one,” says Sephiroth. He barely smiles, but there's a fondness in his voice Cloud had no idea Sephiroth was even capable of._

_“I know perfectly well that you don't,” Genesis retorts, and gracefully climbs off the couch. He catches Angeal by the loosened tie and pulls him in for a kiss, then reaches around and smacks him gently on the ass. The sound echoes in the apartment living room, which seems very crowded even if two of them aren’t really there._

_Aerith giggles. “They’re still this cute, if you’re wondering.”_

_Cloud blinks at her, but before he can say anything, Genesis sidles up to Sephiroth._

_“Angeal does,” Sephiroth says, as Genesis starts doing up the buttons of his shirt. His eyes glance at Angeal for a moment before they return to Genesis._

_“Then he's the only one,” Genesis murmurs, and tugs him down to kiss him. “Let's be honest, Seph. You and I are not the type to be anyone’s better anything.”_

_“That’s the truth,” Angeal says, smirking, but he’s clearly enjoying the show as Genesis kisses Sephiroth in front of him. “I’ll be both of your better half, how’s that.”_

_“Mathematically impossible,” says Sephiroth, against Genesis’s mouth._

_“Can we just say fuck this party and stay home? What are they going to do, send their only three SOLDIERS First to the brig?” Genesis asks, but before anyone answers, there’s a knock on the door._

_The voice is muffled, and Cloud can’t quite make out who it is, but Genesis and Sephiroth clearly know because they both shoot Angeal equally irritated looks._

_“Your puppy, your problem,” says Genesis, as Angeal goes toward the door._

_The scene fades, and once again Cloud and Aerith are standing in the pathway in front of Aerith’s house. Or where Cloud knows Aerith’s house to be – the structure is covered instead by mist, so thick that Cloud cannot make it out._

_“He had to remember them,” Aerith says simply, as Cloud tries to process this. “That he loved them, and the reason why he drove himself mad was because he wanted to save them. Sephiroth became lost and turned down a dark path, but as long as he remembers there is the possibility of light, it is not too late.”_

_“So now what?” Cloud asks, but Aerith takes a step back, toward the mist that is engulfing her. “Now what do we do?”_

_“You’re out of the maze, Cloud,” she says, smiling gently. “The rest is up to the both of you.” She puts her folded hands to her chest, and Cloud feels it like a hug. “Bring him to my church, when he’s ready. Good bye, Cloud.”_

_“Bye, Aerith,” he says, and watches as the mist takes her at last._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY ABOUT THE THREE YEAR CLIFFHANGER. 
> 
> seriously i have no expectations that anyone is even reading this/cares but I WILL FINISH IT, AND SOON, THESE TWO NEED A HAPPY ENDING IS ALL.


	16. without you i'm nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sephiroth remembers the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference. And "indifferent" is something he's never been, not when it comes to Cloud Strife. 
> 
> Hate is just love without the light. And maybe it's time for dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, hi! i'm really happy that people were excited to read the update (I....honestly wasn't sure anyone would even remember this fic or would be like /are you kidding me, lady, you've been gone a hundred thousand fandom years, no) and since I sort of fell back into this fandom (thanks old fandom playlist on YouTube) I really want to finish it. 
> 
> Also I ship Lucrecia/Vincent/Hojo so hard, you guys.

Sephiroth dreamed of fire.

He wasn’t even sure he was asleep, not at first. He knew his eyes were closed but otherwise it was hard to tell if he was dreaming, remembering or –

_Imagining._

Daydreaming?

_Fantasizing._

Sephiroth dreamed of Nibelheim before, but now he knew what the fire felt like at his back. He saw himself impale Cloud – now he remembered what it felt like to do it. He remembered the cold slick fluid, slightly thicker than water, that poured from Jenova’s tank when he smashed the protective casing.

He remembered Zack, prone on the ground. The inconsequential trooper who’d driven Zack’s sword through his chest, Jenova’s voice saying _kill him, he must not live –_

The way it felt when he was thrown back into the electric panel, the way the impact reverberated through his head. The sick jolt of electricity that rattled even his teeth. The fall down into the dark. The way it felt when his spine broke on the floor. The light fading while he died.

He remembered killing Aerith. He remembered the way the world cracked, the way something inside of him shifted, the burn in his veins as if he could feel the mako in them suddenly scream for the life that was no more.

He remembered dying that time, too. An exquisite pain, breaking part into nothing, and once again the last thing he saw was Cloud Strife’s face.

Cloud, Cloud, always Cloud.

The last time, he remembered in flashes like lightning. Himself in the air like a storm; Cloud vengeful and raging, swords drawn, the sky churning. He did not remember being split into three distinct personalities, but he remembered Cloud.

_I will never be a memory._

He woke standing in front of the mirror, staring at himself. This time, it wasn’t just his reflection that was smiling. He reached up with one hand and touched the slight curve of his mouth.

_What am I?_

The thought was pointless and irrelevant. He was a weapon, a monster, an experiment and a criminal. A pawn for a defunct corporate army whose world domination effort was nothing more than rubble in a ruined city. A misfit with psychotic parents who were more intent on satisfying their unholy curiosity than raising their only son.

A demon. A freak.

A murderer.

Sephiroth looked down at the counter. He’d been gripping the granite so hard he’d cracked it. He looked at his reflection, saw his death-pale skin and slitted green eyes. He looked like something carved from marble, cold and inhuman.

The desire to kill Cloud was all-consuming, some sick energy that fed on itself until it could no longer be contained. And even though he felt it coursing like blood through his veins, he knew he would not do it.

_Why?_

The question stopped him, made him tilt his head at his reflection. No longer smiling, he saw the lines around his mouth, the tangles in his hair. The freckles across the bridge of his nose, fair enough to be nearly invisible. The circles under his eyes. Sephiroth, SOLDIER, the so-called Demon of Wutai. Twenty-five years old for nearly a decade, caught somewhere between a man who only knew how to kill, and a monster who only knew hate.

He didn’t know which he wanted to be. In the end, he wasn’t sure it would matter. 

***

The pictures Rufus gave him were on the table in his bedroom, as Sephiroth had been too distracted by his sword to look at them. Next to the folder there was a crude, hand-drawn graphic that somehow he’d missed. It was a round circle that was apparently the planet, and a figure with long flowing hair standing on top of it.

It was crossed out with a _no_ symbol.

Sephiroth picked it up, stared at it, and then put it back down on the desk. Cloud was many things, but an artist, he was not.

The living room was dark, though the sky was beginning to lighten beyond the glass and would it soon be dawn. Sephiroth’s eyesight was impeccable, so he sat on the couch and stared at the photographs.

There were those he’d already seen, and he stared hard at the one of his parents for a long time.

There was a photograph of Hojo, in what must have been the early days of his employment with Shinra, where his resemblance to Sephiroth was the strongest. They had the same sneer, he noted with some sense of impassivity.

In all the pictures of his mother, she looked distracted.

The picture that gave him pause was one of his parents and a dark-haired younger man he finally placed as Vincent Valentine back when he was a Turk – presumably before his mother’s demon possessed him. The three of them were sitting on a long bench, Valentine in the middle and his parents on either side. Hojo’s elbows were resting on his bony knees, and he had a cigarette in his long fingers. His dark hair was messy and his glasses smudged, he was half-turned toward the man sitting between him and Lucrecia. 

Hojo wasn’t wearing a labcoat, but was instead in what looked to be a men’s plain white tank-top and simple suit pants. Everything about him, from his posture to his expression, seemed to radiate tension. He wasn't handsome, but there was something striking about his intensity.

Vincent was wearing almost the same outfit, with the same dark pants and an undershirt. His dark hair was half in his face and he was also smoking. His legs were spread, his knee almost touching Hojo’s.

On Vincent’s other side, his mother was the only one smiling – not at the camera, but at Vincent’s stark profile. Sephiroth recalled his smile from earlier in the bathroom; it was the same smile. Her hair was in a ponytail wrapped in a long ribbon, her bangs and the cowlicks Sephiroth had inherited on full display. She had one bare foot resting on her knee, and was casually dressed in a skirt and a tank top.

The photograph had a caption – _Hard at Work! -- but Sephiroth did not recognize the location.  
_

The next photograph showed him, Angeal and Genesis, clearly after a training session, in the traditional SOLDIER First Class uniform. It was clearly before the Shinra PR department had insisted on the ridiculous uniform Sephiroth wore. They looked like soldiers, sweaty from training. Sephiroth couldn't place the moment if he'd wanted to; tehre'd been too many just like it.

Genesis was standing in the middle, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His auburn hair was held back by a black band, meaning he’d just taken his training visor off – Genesis hated that headband – and one of his knees was bent, his booted heel pressed to the wall behind him.

Angeal was on Genesis’s left, his dark hair pushed off his face, leaning on his sword, his posture relaxed and easy. He was the only one of them smiling.

Sephiroth was on Genesis’s other side. His face was only half-turned to the camera, but since his bangs were held back by his own bandana, it was one of the few photographs he’d ever seen of himself without his distinctive hair obscuring his features.

It was impossible to miss how much he looked like Lucrecia.

There was no caption on the picture, and it didn’t really share any resemblance to the other photograph of his parents and the Turk. But Sephiroth kept looking at the two pictures, side-by-side, because something – something about them was similar.

He saw it a few seconds later. It was the way the two figures were both staring at the one in the middle. In the one of his parents, they were both glancing at Vincent Valentine.

In the one with Sephiroth, he and Angeal were both looking at Genesis as intently as his parents had been looking at Valentine. Sephiroth would bet his masamune that whenever the photograph of him was taken, he was already involved with Gen and Angeal.

Angeal, the first person to try and befriend the man instead of the legacy Shinra was always trying to market him as. And Gen, whose competitiveness had annoyed and confounded Sephiroth in equal measure, who refused to leave him alone and was determined to best him. Sephiroth remembered the first night he went to bed with them both, how he and Genesis had compared marks left on their skin and Angeal had watched them both, shaking his head in fond exasperation.

Their relationship had been contentious and complicated, but it had eventually evened out into something that worked for the three of them. And then they'd left him, and Sephiroth had fallen apart. He'd been planning on leaving Shinra, right up until his gruesome discovery in Nibelheim and that last awful confrontation with Genesis, when any tender feelings Sephiroth might have felt for him were gone, like a flower too-long choked by weeds and dead from neglect.

Sephiroth put the two pictures next to each other, and kept looking through the folder.

There were a set of black-and-white close-ups that Sephiroth realized were still shots produced from the security footage at Nibelheim. Sephiroth found the one where he'd turned to look at Cloud, the moment after Cloud ran him through with Zack's sword -- Angeal's sword.

“Looking at pictures in the dark, huh,” said Cloud, from the doorway. “That’s not very scary of you.”

“Jenova did not want me to kill you because she knew what you would be to me,” Sephiroth said, remembering. Her voice was silent now, but he remembered what she'd told him. _Kill that one, you must, he will stand in our way._

Cloud’s eyes went mako-bright in the dark. “And what’s that?”

_My obsession. The reason I could not lay down in darkness and sleep. I hated you. I still hate you. And she was right. In the end, you were her destruction. Just as you will be mine._

"A problem." A simplification, but it would do. Sephiroth stood and made a gesture. “What we are to each other, she knew. Somehow."

“Great.” Cloud shrugged. “I thought she would have been more tolerant, considering you hated me and I thought she was into that."

Sephiroth shook his head. “Jenova wanted everything I was, but there was a part of me that was always yours. And hate is not the opposite of love, Cloud. The opposite of love is indifference, and I've proven time and time again, when it comes to you...I've never been that.” He glanced down at the pictures again.

“Yeah, I wish," Cloud muttered.

Cloud's lack of fear was a bite against the part of Sephiroth that wanted nothing but Cloud’s suffering, exquisite and entirely _his,_ though he had to admit that Cloud had not been afraid of him when they'd battled as much as resigned.

“I had a dream,” Cloud said, pulling Sephiroth’s attention back to him. “About Aerith. She told me that you had to come back without your memories because you had to remember something. And it wasn’t what you think.” Cloud picked up the photograph of Sephiroth, Genesis and Angeal. “You were supposed to remember this. Them.”

The thought of the Cetra – the one he’d killed – made something stir. The Lifestream was a convoluted memory of light that burned and burned and burned, but she was – coolness like water, like a salve on aching skin. He frowned, eyes narrowed. He did not remember, but the tendrils licked at his brain as if maybe he wasn’t yet supposed to.

“I hadn’t forgotten them,” he said.

“No, not that they existed. I guess you’d forgotten you -- didn't hate them. Weren't indifferent. Whatever you're calling it.” Cloud smiled briefly at the picture in his hand. It was as restrained, and as rare, as Sephiroth's own. “It’s weird to see you in that uniform. I actually like it better than the coat and the chest straps.”

Sephiroth turned this idea over and over in his head. He knew nothing of love, only what it wasn't. "I don't think it was the same, what I felt for them."

“You let Jenova have them. You never let her have me,” Cloud said. "So I guess you hated me more than you loved them."

"I was angry at them," Sephiroth said, thinking about it. "Not Angeal, not by the time he was dead. But Genesis, our last conversation in Nibelheim, I told him to rot. And I meant it," he added, lest Cloud think he didn't. "Whatever might have been between us before that was gone." Perhaps that had been actual indifference, Sephiroth wasn't sure. The conversation with Genesis in Nibelheim seemed like a footnote compared to the rest of it. 

"Well, for whatever reason, Aerith wanted you to know you were capable of being in love. Once.”

 

"And then killing them," Sephiroth said, flatly. 

“No,” Cloud said, very quietly. “That’s what you’re not getting, I think. You don't kill things you love, you go mad trying to keep them."

Sephiroth started, and thought of the picture of his parents and Valentine again.

Cloud sighed. "Look, it's too late for this. I can barely keep up with metaphysical shit in the middle of the day.” He yawned. “You gonna stay down here and brood?”

Sephiroth turned to him, annoyed. “You have no preservation instinct."

“I’ve heard that before,” Cloud agreed. He moved closer, but didn’t try and touch Sephiroth. “If I'm your moral compass, I'm telling you right now you're going to have to do something normal. Get some friends. Hobbies that don't involve aliens or genetics."

“Cloud.” Even Sephiroth could hear how petulant he sounded.

“Sephiroth,” Cloud mimicked. “I’m going to bed.” He moved past Sephiroth and toward the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. “Are you coming? Because if you’re afraid you’re going to lose control and strangle me to death, I think that means you’re probably not going to do it.”

Sephiroth’s teeth gritted. “I don’t think I’d need to go as far as actually killing you to enjoy it.” He did hate Cloud, in a way. Because the surfeit of emotion coursing through him felt like being electrocuted, felt like falling to his death on a metal floor. 

If love and hate were two sides of the same coin, then Sephiroth was one side, and Cloud was the other. It was dark and light, dusk and dawn. There was no way to separate what they were to each other if even death couldn’t manage.

He followed Cloud to his bedroom. It was, as always, a battle to the end.

And as always, Cloud won.

This time, though -- losing felt much better than dying.

***

Cloud was asleep when Sephiroth went quietly out onto the balcony and called Rufus.

"Two things," he said, in his SOLDIER's voice. The one that was used to being obeyed. "I want a SOLDIER uniform. No,not that PR stunt hanging in my closet. A proper SOLDIER First uniform. Second, I want to meet with Vincent Valentine."

"Sephiroth, I thought we'd agreed that your appearance at a press conference was in --"

"Prove to me you are at least half as smart as I am perhaps foolishly giving you credit for, and spare me your attempts at negotiation," Sephiroth interrupted. He wasn't in the mood to pretend Shinra didn't have this entire place under surveillance, and didn't know that Sephiroth's memories had returned.

"You're not going to kill him," Rufus said. Sephiroth wondered who he was trying to convince.

Sephiroth glanced at Cloud through the glass door, tangled up in sheets and dreams. He didn't bother to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i hope that made sense! I have all these Thoughts about why Cloud matters to Sephiroth, and how he's like, genetically predisposed to be obsessive about people. 
> 
> Also I would give my kingdom to see those two photographs of L/V/H and Seph/Gen/Angeal. 
> 
> Finally i would like to state for the record that the thought of Seph in a uniform like Zack's/Angeal's makes me much happier than the leather coat. Is that weird? I think that might be weird, but there's something I dig about that collar. Anyway, than you guys for coming back to this fic, I hope you liked the chapter!! <3!
> 
> And get ready for Cloud's rage when he finds out that Rufus has this whole house wired for sound/under surveillance .  
> (you really should have known better, cloud)


	17. i know where you live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's complicated," said Cloud. 
> 
> (To literally everyone, for the rest of forever, about his boyfriend.)
> 
> Or: Cloud has a few things to say to Rufus Shinra (with his fist), assurances to give to Vincent Valentine and the missus, and starts thinking about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um so maybe nothing much happens here??? look i started this with rotating POV and now my brain insists we do that, so here, have like 3500 words of cranky!cloud, slightly!evil!seph who doesn't know when his birthday is, threatens Tseng with his sword but also composts a peach pit. What?

 

“I think you missed one.”

Cloud spun in a circle, breathing hard, and stared over at Sephiroth. He pointed his blade at him and scowled. “Either help or shut up.”

Sephiroth held his hands up. “I’m helping.”

“You know what would have been helpful,” Cloud started, angry all over again, “If you’d told me about the cameras in the _first place_.” The thought he’d stupidly believed Tseng was telling the truth about that made Cloud furious. 

Cloud jumped up and slashed angrily at a hanging plant. Fucking Rufus.

“Now, now,” Sephiroth said, “What kind of arch-nemesis would I be if I didn’t occasionally thrive on having the upper hand, Cloud?”

Cloud was breathing hard, poking at the mess of dirt and macramé – honestly, macramé? – that littered the floor after his brutal destruction of the hanging plant. There was nothing in the detritus that suggested a surveillance appliance once nestled within. He shot Sephiroth a glare over his shoulder.

“I thought you weren’t my arch-nemesis anymore.” Cloud raked a hand through the sweaty spikes of his hair. He’d been so outraged at Sephiroth’s casual mention of a camera in the bedroom this morning he hadn’t yet taken a shower.

Sephiroth smiled at him, part infuriating giver-of-recycling-lectures, part giver-of-despair-monologues. It was both disconcerting and attractive all at once.

Cloud had, he imagined, lost his goddamned mind.

“It’s really very stupid of you not to have thought Rufus had the house under surveillance,” Sephiroth said, taking a bite of the peach he was eating. He was clearly enjoying himself at Cloud's expense, which was nothing new but was still irritating as hell. 

“You could have told me you suspected about the cameras before you got your memories back,” Cloud muttered. "Instead of his morning." 

This morning, in which Cloud had woken up, rolled over, and found Sephiroth sitting at in a chair he’d pulled across the bed, polishing the masamune with the tip of the blade resting on Cloud’s pillow a few scant inches from his eye.

But he could have gotten over that, if not for Sephiroth’s, “I wonder if Rufus enjoyed how chatty you become when you fuck someone, Cloud.”

Cloud had stared at him, remembered all the things he’d whispered when he had indeed fucked Sephiroth, and then said, “Why would Rufus know about that? Did you call him and tell him?”

“I meant the surveillance,” Sephiroth said, sliding the cloth down the blade.

Cloud’s eyes had tracked the movement, his breath catching – watching Sephiroth polish his sword was hot from an aesthetic viewpoint, there was no way around it – until he realized what Sephiroth meant.

Then he’d jumped up, naked, and reached for his _own_ sword while swearing. He’d pulled on pants and a t-shirt that he realized quickly wasn’t his – it hung off his shoulders weirdly and was too long – and shouted about how he was going to murder Rufus as he systematically started checking the house for devices.

 

Just the thought of Rufus watching –

Cloud closed his eyes and ignored that his face was red. He’d blame it on exertion from backflipping to take out that last camera. “What, are you into that or something? Because I'm not much for exibitionism, and I'm even less into the idea of doing it for Rufus Shinra. I can't imagine you don't feel the same." 

“I haven’t ruled out running him through like I did to his father,” Sephiroth said, too calmly. “Clone or not, I definitely remember _that_.” He smiled.

Cloud scowled at him in response. “You’re trying too hard.”

“Tch.” Sephiroth’s smile was serpentine-slow. “I don’t care about Rufus, Cloud. He is serving a purpose and if he displeases me –”

“You’ll complain about it and do nothing,” Cloud said, firmly. “I’m not going to let you murder Rufus Shinra.”

“Because you want to do it first?”

Yes, but was just the anger talking. Cloud stared up at the ceiling. “I kind of liked being your archenemy better than your moral touchstone. At least that got rid of you for a few years.”

Sephiroth finished his peach, put the pit in a napkin because they had an honest-to-gods _compost_ , and stalked with his usual lazy grace over to where Cloud was scowling and being irritated about everything.  “How very unlucky for you.”

 “You’re telling me. I need a shower.” A terrible thought occurred to him. “Unless they’re – mmph.”

Sephiroth pulled him into a kiss. Cloud kissed him back like he had last night, when it had been a fight even though they’d both known who was going to win. “I don’t want to have more conversations about our fucked up relationship,” Cloud said, against Sephiroth’s mouth. For all his vacillating between evil and – well, as normal as he could be – he tasted like the peach he’d been eating and earl grey tea.

“I wasn’t aware I was offering.”

“What taught you to speak? A dictionary?” Cloud pulled away and ignored that he was half-hard.

“Hojo,” said Sephiroth.

“Speaking of.” Cloud headed toward his bedroom, sword resting lightly against his shoulder. “Is he why you want to talk to Vincent?” He’d seen the picture of Vincent with Hojo and Lucrecia. Though why Sephiroth wanted to know about either of those two, Cloud had no idea.

“Yes.” Sephiroth leaned against the door and watched as Cloud put away his sword, then pulled the shirt over his head and throw it on the bd. He sighed. “Your military training was sadly lacking if you think that’s an appropriate way to treat your clothing.”

“It’s your clothing, not mine.” Cloud pointed out. There was a moment he thought about reminding Sephiroth that he’d burned down Cloud’s hometown. From the slight tension in Sephiroth’s shoulders, he was waiting for Cloud to say it.

Then Cloud remembered the information Sephiroth had uncovered, about the SOLDIER self-destruct trigger implanted in his subconscious. So much of Sephiroth was engineered, created – Cloud knew there was a person under all of that manipulation and emotional dysfunction only because, to a lesser extent, Cloud was the same.

Cloud was a collection of other people’s memories, Hojo’s genetic manipulations, Cetra magic and mako. He’d read something once about the dangers of prolonged exposure to materia, too, and how it was possibly akin to mako or radiation poisoning.

He and Sephiroth were struggling to find the individuals trapped within the confines of who other people wanted them to be. Maybe it made sense that they fit together, even if it shouldn’t.

Even if it was probably a terrible idea.

“Tell me something,” Cloud said, suddenly, arms crossed over his bare chest. He noticed Sephiroth’s gaze on his body and wondered how their past encounters had never included sex. The chemistry was there, Cloud could at least admit that. He was glad they hadn’t – the guilt would have been too much even for him.

“Tell you what?”

Cloud shrugged. The air conditioning whirred to life, the cool air pulling goosebumps on his bare skin. “Something about your life. The one before you were a soldier.”

“I was always a soldier,” Sephiroth said. He tilted his head. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.” Now he sounded like a robot.  

“If this is going to work, we have to be people,” Cloud insisted, trying to put his thoughts into words. “Not just soldiers or experiments.”

“I’ve never been anything else,” Sephiroth said. “And I thought you didn’t want to discuss our fucked up relationship.”

Cloud rarely heard Sephiroth swear – in fact, he’d only heard him use the word _fuck_ in a completely different context. Thinking about it was as good a way as any of combating the chill on his skin from the air conditioning. “What’s your favorite food?” He held up a hand. “I swear if you say something like _the tears of my enemies_ I’m never sleeping with you again.”

Sephiroth stared at him, momentarily so still that Cloud felt a flicker of unease, as if the simple question had sent him back to inhuman-mode. But he blinked, and his head was tilted just so, and maybe it was a ridiculous amount of time dedicated to answering a simple question – but then again, maybe not.

“Fruit,” he said, at length. “I like fruit. Raspberries.” His eyes went distant for a moment. “The fruit I had growing up was usually canned, if I had it at all.”

Cloud nodded. He could remember eating fresh fruit as a kid, but his memories of military food were strange and distant, meaning they were probably Zack’s. Or else it really was that tasteless. Maybe a bit of both.

“My mom used to make this strudel for my birthday,” Cloud said, forcing the words out even though Sephiroth hadn't asked. Talking about his mother with the man who murdered her, regardless of triggers or manipulation or whatever else, was never going to be easy. Best to get used to that now. “Sweet cheese. I tried making it one time for Tifa but, uh. Didn’t go so well.”

Sephiroth said, “Angeal made me a birthday cake, once. Dark chocolate with raspberries.”

“When _is_ your birthday?” Cloud asked.

Sephiroth thought about it. “It was June when Angeal made me the cake, but I’m not sure of the exact date. I’ll have consult Hojo’s files. For all I know, Genesis made it up when he said he saw the date. It’s something he would do. When is yours?”

“August,” said Cloud. He frowned. “Genesis liked to make up birthdays?”

“He liked to know things other people didn’t know, and he was constantly trying to one-up me. He couldn’t do it in training, so he did it in other ways.”

Cloud wondered if Sephiroth lectured the two of them about putting their clothes away and recycling. Probably.

“Find out. When your birthday is.” With that, Cloud turned and went to the bathroom. He showered, dressed in fresh clothes and was on his way to find Sephiroth when the front door opened.

All Cloud needed to see was the top of Rufus Shinra’s white-blond head before he was moving, responding to Rufus’s pleasant greeting by punching him right in his lying, _we don’t have security cameras in the house, Cloud,_ mouth.

Punching Rufus was so satisfying, he pulled his fist back to do it again. He didn’t get the chance, though, because Rufus’s attendant Turk was not Reno this time, but Tseng.

He pulled a gun and sighted it expertly for a kill shot. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

Cloud didn’t, but it was less the gun aimed at his head and more the sight of a blade edge resting against Tseng’s throat that stayed his hand.

“Nor you,” said Sephiroth from somewhere behind Cloud.

“This is interesting,” said Tseng, eyebrows raising. He glanced at Rufus, but didn't lower the gun. “Sir?”

“It’s fine,” Rufus said, hand pressed to his jaw. Cloud’s punch had split his lip and there was blood on his chin.  He winced. “Hell of a right hook, Cloud.”

Cloud knew it had to hurt, if the pain in his knuckles was any indication. “I should punch _you_ , next,” Cloud grumbled, flexing the fingers of his hand. He glared at Tseng. “You told me there weren’t cameras.”

Tseng shrugged, looking completely unperturbed. He gave Sephiroth a considering glance. “Sephiroth. It’s good to see you again,” he said, as Sephiroth finally lowered the masamune. “I hope you’re dealing well with the return of your memories. I can’t imagine that’s easy.”

Sephiroth’s answer was a low, “hmm.”

Tseng nodded, and Cloud knew he was taking in Sephiroth’s position – behind Cloud, on his left, since Cloud was right-handed – and cataloguing what it meant that Sephiroth was defending Cloud, even with his memories intact.

Sephiroth knew it, too. “No one gets to kill him but me.”

Cloud rolled his eyes.

Tseng, ever the professional, said nothing.

“Could we move out of the foyer?” Rufus asked.

If it hadn’t been for Sephiroth and his sword, Cloud was sure Rufus wouldn’t have asked before pushing by him. Grimly pleased by that, Cloud turned and went into the living room upstairs. He didn’t miss the sigh Rufus gave as he surveyed the damage an irate Cloud had done to the house.

“Was this really necessary?”

“You want a black eye to go with that split lip?” Cloud folded his arms over his chest. “You’re destroying that footage, Shinra.”

Rufus gave him a bloody smile. “Make me.”

Cloud took a step forward.  

“Gentlemen,” Tseng interrupted. “We’re here for reason.” He handed over a bag Cloud hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Sephiroth. You requested this?”

Sephiroth reached out and took the bag. Cloud had no idea what it was, but whatever was in there, Sephiroth nodded in approval and that was that.

“As for your second request, that might be a bit more difficult to arrange,” said Rufus. "The other party is a bit...recalcitrant." 

“I’m not interested in the details,” said Sephiroth. “Just see to it that it’s arranged.”

Rufus clearly didn’t like being spoken to like a secretary, but Cloud enjoyed it. “Valentine refuses to meet with you until he’s spoken to Cloud via vid-com. And his wife wants me to try you for war crimes against the planet.”

Cloud smiled despite himself. That sounded like Yuffie.

“Then she can stay at home. Given what I wish to discuss with him, it’s likely better for everyone if she does.”

“Why?” asked Cloud.

“Discuss this on your own time,” Rufus said, sounding imperious even with a bloody lip. He handed over a folder. “Here’s the information and a preliminary schedule for the press conference. And your retirement benefits.”

“My what?” Sephiroth sounded startled. 

“Shinra no longer has a military component,” Rufus said, in his perfect politician's voice. 

“So you're disbanding the Turks?” Cloud muttered.

Rufus ignored him. “Unless you’d like another position, which of course we’ll be happy to find you something, then you should receive a pension and retirement benefits, including hazard pay, for your contributions over the years to the company.”

Cloud wondered what the going rate was, for almost single-handedly winning an unjust war motivated by corporate greed and then nearly ending all life on the planet a time or two. Probably higher than the rates for his delivery service, that was for sure.

Sephiroth, if he was pleased by his sudden windfall, said nothing.

“The devices don’t record to a back-up,” Tseng said. Cloud would have sworn he was amused, even if his features were as impassive as ever. “In case you were worried.”

Cloud didn’t believe that for a second – _fool me once --_ but it made him blush anyway. He ignored everyone and marched into the kitchen to get himself something to drink, while Tseng told Sephiroth to make sure whatever was in the bag fit and let him know if it didn't.  

“And tell Strife only amateurs hide recording devices in houseplants,” said Rufus, loud enough that Cloud heard him just fine.

***

“Cloud.”

Cloud leaned back against the rough wood of the gazebo and adjusted his phone. He smiled at the sight of Vincent, scowling, dark hair framing his face. There was a brief flare of red in his eyes as Chaos gave his own greeting, though Cloud had no idea what that might be. He didn't speak demon. 

“Vincent. I’m alive.”

Vincent gave a rough bark of laughter. “Right to the point with you, Strife. Good. I'm glad to see it, even if you're doing something stupid as per usual.”

“I try.”

Vincent’s smile faded immediately. “What are you doing with him?”

Cloud sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“Mm.” Vincent stared at him. Before Cloud could say anything, Yuffie’s face peered over his shoulder.

“Cloud! Hi!” Her friendly grin turned fierce in seconds. “Where is that son of a bitch and why haven’t you killed him yet?”

“Yuffie,” Vincent admonished. “I was getting to that part.”

“It’s complicated,” said Cloud.

They both stared at him. Cloud would let them draw their own conclusion about what “complicated” meant. Vincent, who was possessed by a demonic entity, didn’t exactly have room to talk.

“Cloud,” said Vincent, very carefully. “There’s something people mean when they say that….”

“No! You can’t mean that. Do you? Really?” Yuffie looked pissed off – but at Vincent, not Cloud. “I can’t believe you won that bet. I owe you like, what, two-hundred gil?”

“Two hundred?” Vincent gave his wife a small smile. “Try five. Interest, Yuffie.”

“He – we – look, I know this isn’t going to make any sense, but when he first got here he didn’t remember any of the. Stuff.” Cloud closed his eyes. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Vincent said, then, “Yuffie will kill him anyway.”

“Especially now that he cost me two-hundred gil.”

“Five hundred,” Vincent reminded her.

“You’re not, like, mind-controlled again, right?” Yuffie demanded. “You don’t have any Black Materia….what? Don’t look at me like that, Vincent! I’m just checking!” She peered at Cloud. “Right, Cloud?”

Cloud missed her, suddenly – her, and Vincent, and the rest of them. Sure, he might have spent a long time half-convinced he was someone else on that epic journey to save the world, and the rest of the time he was terrified and unsure, but it had brought him people that – for better or for worse – would always be a part of his life.

At least, until they all killed him for sleeping with Sephiroth.

“I’m not mind controlled,” Cloud said with a sigh. “It’s complicated.” If he said that enough, maybe people would just leave him alone and stop asking him to explain it.

“If this is a trap,” said Yuffie, all traces of humor gone, “I will end you. I don’t care what happens or who comes after me. You’ll end up with your throat slit. Both of you.”

Cloud didn’t doubt her for a minute. Yuffie was one of the most dangerous people Cloud knew, and he definitely wouldn’t underestimate her. “It’s not a trap,” he assured her, then thought better of it. “I don’t think. There’s no reason Sephiroth would want to kill you.”

“Wow, Cloud.”

Cloud made a frustrated noise and raked a hand through his hair. “I’ll be here, Yuffie. It’ll be fine.”

“It’ll be fine, he says.” Yuffie glanced at Vincent, who reached out and gently put a hand on her shoulder – she’d managed to make herself the center of the viewscreen, effectively pushing Vincent off to the side.

“We’ll be there,” Vincent said, and from the glow in his eyes, Cloud knew he didn’t mean he and Yuffie. “I owe him whatever answers he wants, since I know what he’s going to ask me about.”

“Well? What is it?” Yuffie demanded, clearly not interested in waiting for privacy to have this conversation with her husband.

“His parents,” Vincent said.

“Oh,” said Yuffie, and went quiet.

Cloud stayed outside after ending his call, staring off into space and thinking. He was going to have to have a conversation with Tifa about Sephiroth. He was going to have to have a conversation with literally _everyone_ about Sephiroth. And it wasn’t going to go well. Tifa, he had a feeling, wouldn’t ask if he were being mind-controlled. She’d just show up and kill Sephiroth to be safe.

Sighing, he got up and went inside. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Aerith,” he muttered. From where he was standing, it seemed as if he’d just walked out of one maze and right into another.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The birthday cake thing I wrote about in Just Desserts, and I haven't yet figured out if Genesis was lying about that really being Seph's birthday or not. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, I'm sorry this was a filler chapter omg i feel bad i'm working on intense angst as we speak???


	18. summer's gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I find platitudes of love as useless as I do ones about family,” Sephiroth said, and pretended he didn’t notice the lack of certainty in his own voice.
> 
> In which Sephiroth gets some answers, and a few new questions to go along with them. 
> 
> And has the world's most obvious dream, because someone doesn't trust him to get the point without heavy-handed nature metaphors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a little while -- writing this scene with Vincent was *hard* and I blame the INSANE TIMELINE of what happened with Lucrecia/Hojo and Sephiroth's birth and Vincent becoming a demon (which is the...best sentence I've written all day tbh). Look, it's very probable I contradict canon 2384234 times in this, but like...IT LITERALLY MAKES NO SENSE :| I watched so many cut scenes and read wikia articles and finally came up with what I *hope* makes sense with canon. 
> 
> I feel like if the writers of actual FFVII compilation stuff (*cough*DOC*cough*) don't care enough to think through things like "when does Lucrecia have a baby and when does she infuse Vincent with Chaos" then I am not going to stress out TOO bad.
> 
> I should mention I don't hate Lucrecia, but I think she's manipulative and super smart and I think she did love both Vincent and Hojo very much. I didn't want to come across as if I hated her, but I do really question some of her choices. ("Oh you found out I was there when your dad was eaten by a demon? I better have a baby with the guy who laughs at my thesis in the lab." ....what?)
> 
> ANYWAY ONWARD WE GO :D I did go back and edit the last two or three chapters since my ~return~ but not too much.

Vincent Valentine, former Turk and current host of a demonic entity, stood in the living room of the house at Healen staring at Sephiroth with eyes that were glowing red, making a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

Sephiroth put his arms across his chest. He’d left his sword in the bedroom, though he’d avoiding speaking to Cloud for two hours after Cloud told him to leave it there, because while he understood there was to be some certain amount of… _compromising_ in this relationship, that didn’t mean he intended to do it gracefully.

Vincent’s dark hair was worn long and tangled, held off his face by a red bandana. His crimson cloak was dusty and ragged on the bottom, and he was dressed in unrelenting black beneath. But other than that, he looked the same age as he had in the photograph with Sephiroth's parents. Which was, of course, impossible. “You are, by my recollection, nearly sixty years of age.”

“Sixty-two.” Vincent said. He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it on the couch, his eyes never leaving Sephiroth’s. “Forgive me for staring.”

“Are you going to tell me I look like my mother?” Sephiroth asked, watching him carefully. 

“I hadn’t intended on saying that, no,” Vincent said. “But you do. I assume that’s why you wanted to see me. Your mother?”

“Yes.” Sephiroth turned on his heel and walked to the kitchen, where he gestured toward the table and the photograph of Vincent with Lucrecia and Hojo. 

Vincent picked it up without sitting down. “I haven’t had a cigarette in years,” he said, which was not what Sephiroth expected. “Chaos hates the taste.” He set the photograph down and leaned against the table, watching as Sephiroth put the kettle on for tea. “What is it you want to know?”

“You were…together. The three of you.”

Vincent didn’t bother to deny or ask for clarification. He gave a brief nod. “Yes.”

“Why?” Sephiroth asked, bluntly. “He was insane. She – I know nothing about her because no one saw fit to tell me she existed, but given she willingly experimented on her own child, I’m guessing she wasn’t a paragon of parenthood, herself.”

“Shinra’s sins are many,” Vincent said quietly. “As are your parents’. As are my own.”

Sephiroth waved a hand. “Spare me your moral equivalences, Valentine. I’m not interested in your desire to atone.” Especially since Sephiroth wasn’t yet sure if he shared that particular desire. He knew there were things he had done that he wished he hadn’t, but his practical nature made the thought of penance seem pointless at best. Unless he could go back and change them, there was no point. They were already done. 

Vincent inclined his head again. “I met Lucrecia when I worked for the Department of Administrative Research. I was assigned to the science department because President Shinra knew that my family had a science background.” His mouth twisted. “My father was researching demonic entities and died during one of his experiments. He was working with a grad student – I’m sure you might guess who that was.”

“My mother,” said Sephiroth, flatly. It felt odd to say the word  _mother_  now that he knew it referred to a scientist with whom he shared a smile and a cowlick, instead of an alien with aspirations of godhood.  

“Yes. I didn’t know that until later, though. I’ve never been entirely sure why she didn’t tell me, to be honest, but Lucrecia – your mother – she was very…she wasn’t like the women I knew. In my experience women were wives or mothers, or domestic servants. I'm aware that's old fashioned, but as you noted, I'm older than I look.” Vincent’s mouth twisted. “Lucrecia was brilliant, but unbalanced.” His eyes touched on Sephiroth’s again, as Sephiroth retrieved the kettle from the stove and poured hot water for two mugs of tea.

“This may come as a bit of a shock, Valentine, but I've already figured that out,” Sephiroth said.

Vincent made a sound that it took Sephiroth a moment to categorize as a laugh. “She was also the only one in Shinra who could stand to work with your father for any length of time, other than professor Gast.”

Gast. There was a name he'd not thought of in years. Sephiroth grew up with the two of them, Professors Hojo and Gast. 

Sephiroth had murdered Gast's daughter on a sacrificial altar to summon the end of the world. 

Perhaps there were things for which he did need to atone. Before his disappearance, Gast had been kind to him in his own way. The closest thing to an actual father Sephiroth had ever known, in fact. His wife once brought him a toy that Hojo hadn't let him keep, because _don't be stupid, boy, teddy bears are nothing but irregularly shaped fabric_. He'd given Sephiroth a topographical map to study instead. 

 

Sephiroth handed Vincent his tea. Vincent, likely far too paranoid to drink it, nevertheless accepted the mug and held it between his gloved hands. “It was a long time before I understood that their compatibility was due to your mother’s obsession with her work. Your parents were both dangerously ambitious, ruthlessly practical and highly emotional people. As, it would seem, is their son.”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed. “I was trained to be the best. It wasn’t as if I had a choice.”

“Yes, and then you thought you were a god chosen to rule the planet and then destroy it,” Vincent reminded him. “With apparently very little evidence to suggest any of that was true.”

As much as he’d like to, Sephiroth couldn’t argue with that. “If they were so terrible, why were you with them?”

“I told you before. My sins are many,” Vincent said simply. “And not all of them have to do with your parents. I _was_ a Turk.” He finally sat down, and to Sephiroth’s surprise, took a sip of the tea. Maybe he’d rather risk being poisoned than talk about sleeping with Lucrecia and Hojo. Sephiroth couldn’t blame him, even if they weren’t his parents.

“It’s hard to explain how conservative my upbringing was, despite the…oddness, of my father’s interest in demonology.” Vincent glanced at Sephiroth through his hair. “I’m not certain how to say the rest of this.”

“I thought I told you I wasn’t interested in your moral platitudes,” Sephiroth said.

“You said _equivalencies_ ,” Vincent responded. “And this isn’t about morality, not really. It’s just…intensely personal on a level I’m barely comfortable discussing with my wife, much less the son of the people in question.”

That he said that, instead of _someone I’ve tried to kill_ , gave Sephiroth pause. Still, he wanted answers, not delay tactics. “Perhaps your demon will answer. I doubt his sensibilities are as easily offended.”

Vincent’s glower morphed into a fierce grin so quickly it made Sephiroth blink several times in rapid succession. Vincent's eyes were glowing, and the laugh – and accompanying voice – that emanated from the gruff, mostly soft-spoken man was nothing that had ever been human.

“He doesn’t like to think about it,” the voice said, the smile tipped by canine teeth. “About how your bitch of a mother seduced him and Hojo caught them at it, and instead of being angry, joined in. Having a man fuck him was not something my host thought he would ever act on, though he is lying if he says he never thought about it before that. Orsince.”

The idea of Hojo being involved with anyone in any capacity save science was so ridiculous, Sephiroth wanted to laugh. The demon-creature seemed to be waiting for Sephiroth to take issue with it calling his mother a bitch, but he waved that off.

“I’m not interested in Valentine’s sexual history beyond its relation to my parents,” said Sephiroth. 

“Strife is,” the demon said slyly. "What do you think about that?"

That was a momentary surprise, but maybe it shouldn’t be. If Sephiroth had a type, then Cloud likely did, as well. Valentine was attractive enough, with the broody eyes and the long dark hair, and the demon to add a bit of danger. Cloud might deny it until the chocobos came home, but Sephiroth knew it was true. 

“That it's unsurprising,” said Sephiroth, a bit dryly. “If I’m understanding you correctly, my mother seduced Valentine and my father caught them in the act and joined in?” 

“It was your father's suggestion to seduce him in the first place,” the demon continued, leaning forward like it was eager to gossip. “Your father liked them pretty and tragic. Like father, like son, hmm?”

Sephiroth cocked his head. “Genesis grew up wealthy and spoiled, I’d hardly call him tragic. And Angeal was the most well-adjusted man I’d ever met. Unless you mean their unfortunate ends, at which point we were ex-comrades-in-arms and nothing more. Cloud, I’d imagine, would take issue with the word tragic being applied to him on principle.” Sephiroth sipped his tea. “And I would agree they were all attractive, but I don’t think _pretty_ is the word I would use.”

“You’re no fun,” the demon said, sighing. It licked at the tea with a forked tongue without picking up the glass, like a cat sipping milk from a bowl.

“I’ve heard that before.” Sephiroth watched as the demonic features slowly faded and Vincent’s re-appeared. He hadn’t shifted completely, but the effort clearly had drained him.

He fixed Sephiroth with a resigned look and lifted his tea mug with a hand that trembled slightly. “That answer your question?”

“Sufficiently enough, yes,” said Sephiroth, whose couldn’t quite help himself from asking, “Are you aware of what he’s saying, when he comes through?”

“Like that? Yes. When it’s a full transformation, I tend to black out. And how interesting I’m having a conversation about my demon with the man whose mother gave it to me.”

“About that,” said Sephiroth. He pointed at the mug. “I do have to admit, I’m surprised you didn't assume the tea was poisoned.”

Vincent shrugged and took another drink. “Chaos told me it was fine when you handed it to me, he could tell from the steam. He finds my being poisoned an inconvenience, even if it wouldn't kill me.”

Valentine’s demon was interesting, but he was here for Sephiroth to figure out his own. “So my parents seduced you, you were apparently fine with this, and…?”

“Ah.” Vincent cleared his throat. “I – you can imagine I never thought I’d have this conversation with their child.”

“Mmm,” said Sephiroth.

“The three of us had a very intense, but relatively short, relationship. I wasn’t – comfortable – being with a man, because the idea was so contrary, to my upbringing. Again, I was in my early twenties, and now of course I don't have a problem with what consenting adults choose to--”

“It’s of no concern,” Sephiroth interrupted. “I’m hardly likely to change my proclivities based on your opinion, and I don’t, and never have, cared about how they’re viewed by anyone else.”

Vincent, surprisingly, smiled. “Your father said much the same thing.”

That, Sephiroth _did not_ like hearing. “Wonderful. How nice to know we shared one positive trait."

“You look like your mother, but your sense of humor is very much the same as his.”

Sephiroth stared at him, and for some reason, that was far more strange to him than imagining Hojo in a romantic relationship. “Who said I was joking? Anyway, he certainly didn’t seem to possess anything remotely close to a sense of humor, as far as I noticed.”

“No,” Vincent said, quietly. “I can see that maybe he wouldn’t have, after…after everything. But yes, when I first knew him, he was very dry-witted.”

“And then…?” Sephiroth prompted.

“And then everything went to hell,” Vincent said. He leaned back in his chair, gaze fixed somewhere past Sephiroth’s shoulder. “She found out that I knew she’d been working with my father, and that she was there when he died. To this day, I don’t understand why but it was the thing that made her find me and end our relationship. It was incredibly strange, because it was almost as if finding that folder had been some sort of mental switch.”

Sephiroth went cold as he thought about himself in Nibelheim, and Genesis killing his parents in Banora. “Maybe it was.”

Vincent blinked at him, then narrowed his eyes. “What?”

Sephiroth explained, “I have been researching these last few months, trying to find out why I, myself, went crazy and, as you put it, thought my mother was an alien and I was destined to be a god. The SOLDIER program was coming to an end, and Shrina had, shall we say, pre-programmed its SOLDIERS First with convenient ‘self-destruct’ mechanisms.” Sephiroth met Vincent’s gaze calmly. “Genesis and Angeal were to take care of Banora, Lazard and the Shinra Tower. I was to take care of Zack Fair and Nibelheim. But  my father didn’t want me dead, so instead my mental programming was to return to Shinra with Jenova’s head so he could have access to her cells. He planned to use those cells on the infant he would create with my DNA and that of Aerith Gainsborough, the last living Cetra.”

“My gods,” Vincent murmured. He closed his eyes. “He wanted to finish his work, and your mother’s, at the same time.”

“Fitting tribute, hmm?” Sephiroth continued. “But I was killed by a mere infantryman, and that was that. Still, my point is that it isn’t outside the realm of possibility that Hojo wanted some way to get you away from my mother when it was time to...begin 'Project S', as it were.”

“Your mother wouldn’t have left him for me, regardless. I asked her more than once to marry me, but she said she couldn’t.” Vincent hid for a moment behind the fall of his hair, a gesture that looked familiar. Knowing that Vincent had been with his mother made him wonder briefly about his parentage and if Hojo’s reports were accurate when it came to his parentage.

No matter. He wasn’t interested in having a parent, and surely there was no one on the Planet who wanted to claim him as a son. “So she found you knew she was there when your father died,” he prompted. "And...?" 

“And she blamed herself. I tried to convince her that it wasn’t her fault, but I…in the years since, let’s say that I have pretty firm proof that she actually _was_ responsible.” His eyes flashed again, unholy and bright. “She and Hojo told me about their plan for the Jenova experiment and how they were going to use their own child. I tried to protest, but they wouldn’t hear of it. They knew what they were doing, and as your father said to me, _this doesn’t concern you._ ”

 “And you are sure that I was the child in question?”

“Yes,” Vincent said. 

"How?" 

"I was there for most of her pregnancy, and she'd -- she always told me what she was going to name you, and the significance of the name. But then she became sick shortly after beginning the transfusions. She blamed it on working long hours and not sleeping well, but later confessed she had terrible nightmares that her child would end the world.”

The two regarded each other silently across the table for a moment before Vincent spoke again. “I confess I thought it was merely symbolic and that she regretted what she was doing, injecting her child with alien cells. But she was inconsolable and collapsed one day while working. I confronted Hojo about it, and threatened to take her away somewhere safe.”

He smiled grimly. “Hojo shot me in the chest, but I was still conscious when she showed up. They argued, but my memory is understandably vague about what happened. All I know is, I ended up suspended in a mako tank.” He sighed. “I think she wanted me out of the way, but didn't want me actually dead. I have memories of her in the lab, telling me she’d be able to let me out soon. She was gone for awhile, which is when I assume she gave birth to you, and when she came back, that’s when she infused me with Chaos.”

Sephiroth tried to understand what he was hearing. “You’re saying Dr. Lucrecia Crescent was still working at Shinra after I was born?” 

Vincent looked briefly surprised, meaning Sephiroth hadn't managed to keep his voice as emotionless as he'd like. “Well, to an extent. She wasn’t in Midgar,” Vincent explained. “She was in Nibelheim. That’s where you were born, and then Hojo returned with you to Shinra. She stayed, ostensibly to recover and continue her experiments on me. Hojo wouldn’t allow her to see or hold you, he took you away the moment after you were born.”

“Then perhaps he never did want her for anything other than to carry a child,” Sephiroth mused.

“I have few memories of my time in the tank, as being submerged in Mako affects your memory. But I remember he would show up sometimes, and once he made mention that she was continuing work on her thesis with me - he seemed proud of her." Vincent's face twisted into a scowl. "That was the last time I remember seeing him.” Vincent’s voice went low and dark. “Before I killed him. That’s when he admitted to Cloud that he was your father, and that Jenova wasn’t your mother at all. He knew he was going to die, I think, and he wanted us all to know that the god about to destroy our planet was his son.”

That sounded more like the Hojo that Sephiroth knew and detested. “So my mother stayed at the Shinra mansion, then my father took me to Midgar. You killed my father, and my mother went to live in a cave.”

“The Jenova cells make her unable to die, and yet I wouldn’t say what she is doing is living. She feels a tremendous amount of guilt for her role in what became of you.”

Sephiroth raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. “She should. But it seems less like guilt and more like a desire to escape responsibility. From the story you just told me, that would appear to be a pattern of hers.”

Vincent nodded. “Yes. That's an astute observance. It took me a long time to understand that about her. I…I went to sleep in the Shinra mansion because I believed that it was my fault. Her illness, and my inability to stop her from experimenting on…well. You.”

“It wasn’t your fault. If I do share her genes, and my father’s, then you couldn’t have done anything but end up dead. The fact neither of them killed you makes me inclined to believe that they did have some feelings for you, as neither of them were quite willing to get rid of you.”

Vincent blinked, then made the barking sound that Sephiroth took for a laugh. “Yes. I guess that’s true. But make no mistake, Sephiroth. I loved your mother once, a long time ago, and I blamed myself for what happened for a long time. But I don't, anymore. And I will never regret killing your father.”

“Good.” Sephiroth studied him, and he knew that it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things but he couldn’t help asking. “Is there any chance that he isn't my father, and that you are?" He put that as bluntly as he could. 

Vincent didn’t look surprised by the question. “I’ve wondered. It would explain perhaps why she kept me alive at all, but I don’t understand why she would be sentimental about a child’s father if she wasn’t…” He looked away.  

“Sentimental about the child itself?” Sephiroth asked. When Vincent didn’t answer, Sephiroth said, “You said it yourself. She was afraid of what I would become, and didn’t wish to take the responsibility. She hid away in Nibelheim with you and her thesis, and left me with Hojo to become…what I became.”

“You blame her,” said Vincent, perhaps a hint of old defensiveness in his voice.  

“It’s not a matter of blame,” Sephiroth said calmly. “I wanted answers for my own knowledge, and now I have it. The reports say that I am Hojo’s biological offspring, and I suppose the files could have been forged since he is the one who authored them. But as much as I might appreciate not sharing his DNA, I think it’s likely irrelevant _who_ my biological father is.”

“Irrelevant.” Vincent’s red eyes flashed. “Is that so?" 

Sephiroth lifted one shoulder. “My genetic signature at this point is so convoluted, it’s rather pointless to deconstruct it into the individual parts, isn't it? The Jenova cells, Mako and other enhancements have done their work too well. Besides, I’m relatively certain, given what you’ve said, that Hojo is my father.”

“Because you wouldn’t have locked yourself away for twenty years out of guilt for another person’s behavior?”

Said like that, Sephiroth wondered for a moment if Vincent were _Cloud’s_ father. “Partly, yes. I’m too obsessive to let things go. If not, I wouldn’t have come back from the dead three times and pursued the same man out of spite for killing me.” That maybe wasn't the entire reason, but it would do for now. 

“If you wish to have the tests done, to prove it once and for all…it is the least I can do for her.” Vincent’s mouth tightened. “I have come to realize she was manipulative and in some ways not the woman I thought her to be, but I did love her, very much. And I will always regret that I wasn't able to do something. For you.” He stared at the table. "I took my place against you and I will again. But that doesn't mean I wish things couldn't have been different." 

“Let me make something perfectly clear,” Sephiroth said, after a moment in which he was more affected by that than he wanted to admit. “If you were my father – if you _are_ my father – it does not change what I have done and it wouldn’t have stopped me. I was not your responsibility then, and I am certainly not your responsibility now.”

Vincent raised his head, and he fixed Sephiroth with a gaze that was surprisingly direct. His voice, when he spoke, was low but intent. “You should have been someone's responsibility,” he said fiercely. “Instead, I cared too much about her, she cared too much about me, and Hojo cared too much about his experiment. And no one cared about you.”

“Enough.” The last thing he wanted was Vincent’s pity. Sephiroth stood up. “You’ve told me what I wanted to know.”

“What was that, exactly?” Vincent stood as well. “I had assumed your asking about my relationship with your parents was a way to find out your true parentage. But if you’re not interested in knowing if I’m your father, then why would you ask me about it at all?”

Sephiroth almost didn’t answer. He walked to the door that led to the outside deck and put one hand on the glass. It mimicked the way he’d stood in front of Jenova, until he felt the glass warm beneath his palm. He could lie to Vincent, he could neglect to answer, or he could tell the truth. In the end, he chose the latter. 

“As I said. My genetic makeup is so inherently convoluted that I don’t know if it matters who my biological parents are at this point. But I suppose what I want is the answer to the question about nature versus nurture. Did I go insane because my genetic blueprints are structured to allow for no other outcome? Or did I act out after losing the two people who were important to me, like my parents when they lost you?”

There was silence from the man behind him. Sephiroth could see Vincent reflected in the mirror behind him. “You underestimate my importance to your parents, Sephiroth. This picture?” He picked it up, knowing Sephiroth could see him in the window’s reflection. “This is what might have been. It is not what was. There is a difference between losing someone and locking them up against their will because you love them but can't let them go.”

Maybe not. _You don't kill the people you love,_ Cloud's voice whispered.  _You go mad trying to keep them._

Sephiroth said nothing. 

"And for what it’s worth, I understand what you mean. I wonder all the time how much of me is really left. And I won’t lie to you and tell you that vengeance and love are enough to make me stop wondering. But they have helped me realize what is truly important. Mostly the latter, though I can't deny the satisfaction I took killing Hojo.” There was another bright flare of Vincent's demon at that. "I will happily atone for the sin of enjoying that. But loving someone has...helped immeasurably." 

“I find platitudes of love as useless as I do ones about family,” Sephiroth said, and pretended he didn’t notice the lack of certainty in his own voice. “I’ll have the test done. But if I am your son and you succumb to grief and bury yourself in a box for twenty more years, I don’t want you blaming it on me.”

Vincent snorted. “All right. Though I can’t promise you’ll be invited home for the holidays. My wife still wants to kill you.”

“I’m afraid she might have to take a spot in a very long line,” Sephiroth said. He felt some tension leave him. He turned and inclined his head to Vincent. “Thank you. For coming and answering my questions in person.”

He’d clearly thrown Vincent by thanking him. Sephiroth rolled his eyes. “I have impeccable manners. It has less than nothing to do with my sanity.”

“Speaking of.” There was a click, and Sephiroth found himself staring down the barrel of Vincent’s gun. “Son of mine or not, if you hurt Cloud, I will kill you.”

“You won’t,” Sephiroth said, thinking longingly of his blade draped across the bed in Cloud's bedroom. “But I accept that you’ll try.”

Cloud, who had taken off earlier on his motorcycle, of course chose that moment to come home. Both Sephiroth and Vincent heard him, given their enhanced senses. Neither moved, meaning Cloud walked in and found Sephiroth standing in front of the glass door with Vincent aiming a gun at him.

Cloud was dusty from his day spent outside on the motorcycle. His white shirt was streaked with dirt and he had some smeared on his face and even in the tips of his hair. He shoved his goggles up and it made some of the spikes stand up even taller.

“Hello, Cloud," Sephiroth said. "Vincent was just threatening me about you.”

“Don’t,” Cloud said. “It’s fine, Vincent. You can’t lecture me about bad romantic choices anyway. I saw that picture. Hojo?” He made a face. "At least you found Yuffie." Cloud finally tore his gaze away from Sephiroth’s and put a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too. I’m not so sure about the company you’re keeping, but I suppose you know what you’re doing.”

“If you really thought that, you’d put the gun away.” Cloud gave his old friend a smile, slight but genuine. Sephiroth watched the two of them carefully, remembering the demon sneering  _Strife is_ and being annoyed at himself for thinking about it. 

“Habit.” Vincent returned the weapon – somewhere, Sephiroth couldn’t quite tell where in the voluminous folds and many pockets adorning his clothes. “Where do you want the blood test done? I’m not sure if anyone can be trusted inside Shinra, but I’m not sure of the accuracy anywhere else. As usual, they seem to have all the scientists.”

“Rufus will make certain the test is conducted appropriately and the results are truthful.” Sephiroth said. He frowned at Cloud. “Did you leave your boots on? Again? You’ve practically ruined the carpets tracking mud in, you realize." 

“I realize. I just don’t care.” Cloud glanced over at Vincent, who was looking a bit surprised by the interaction -- clearly he expected a fight to death, not a domestic squabble at Cloud's inability to leave his boots on the mat designed _specifically for that purpose._ He'd clearly never lived with Cloud for any substantial period fo time. “You get used to the fact he lectures _constantly_.”

“Hmm. _I_ haven’t gotten used to the fact you were in the military and are completely unable to clean up after yourself.”

“You really aren’t crazy,” Vincent said bluntly. 

“I don’t know if I’d say that,” Sephiroth muttered. “I’m aware of who I am and what I’ve done, and I’m…not interested in repeating the past. I don’t want to end the world’s existence, if that’s what you’re asking.” _I just don’t know if I want to end my own._

Vincent gave a rough nod, and left to speak with Cloud. Sephiroth assumed it was to deliver a series of warnings and promises of support should Sephiroth go mad again and left them to it. He glared at the tracked dirt on the floor, then found the broom and swept it up. 

Sephiroth had been so sure that he didn’t care if Vincent was his father instead of Hojo, but it turned out he wanted to know after all. Maybe because the idea of having Cloud kill him so that he could end his existence once and for all --  _sleep,_ some might say -- was a lot more similar to Vincent than Hojo. 

Sephiroth didn’t think it mattered. His genes might not be Cetra or exalted or divine, but they were still a mess. Likely it would drive Valentine insane if it turned out his son had almost destroyed the world, but Sephiroth still intended to find out. If Vincent wanted to know the truth, Sephiroth would give it to him.

He was hungry, and tired, and it occurred to him as he put the broom away how human he felt. More than he had since his memories returned, and he wondered why that was. If it was Vincent’s presence that did it – Vincent, who shared Jenova Cells if not biological DNA  – or his ties to Sephiroth’s past and his parents. He wondered what would happen if he went to the cave where his mother had trapped herself in crystal out of guilt. Would she speak to him? Cloud must know where it was, but Sephiroth had an admittedly poor track record when it came to confronting someone he thought was his mother. Perhaps it would be best to leave it for now.

Cloud came back inside when Sephiroth was finishing up cooking dinner. “You think Vincent could be your father? Gods, that’d be weird.”

“Because you want to sleep with him?”

Cloud, who was guzzling water out of a bottle he'd pulled from the fridge – at least he’d taken his boots off – blinked at him. He’d pulled off the goggles, so the spikes were higher _and_ fluffier. He looked like a chocobo that had been rolling around in the dirt. “What? He’s married to Yuffie.”

“He’s been with men before,” Sephiroth said, unsure why he was even talking about it. “My father.”

“There’s a ringing endorsement,” Cloud snorted, then leaned against the fridge. “Are you jealous?”

Sephiroth tilted his head and thought about it. He’d never been jealous before, though Genesis had been prone to it on occasion. Mostly over Angeal, though perhaps once or twice over Sephiroth. “I’m not sure that’s what this is.”

“Uh.” Cloud finished his water and, shockingly, put the bottle in the recycling bin. “I don’t know what to say. Other than I’m not – this is already way too complicated,” he said, indicating the two of them. “I don’t intend to make it worse by involving anyone else.”

Sephiroth crossed the room in two strides and trapped Cloud against the fridge with his body. “Good.” He leaned down and nipped at Cloud’s ear. “I’ll kill them if you do.”

Cloud shoved at his chest. “You won’t. You kill anyone, that’s it. This is over. Got it?”

“Oh, Cloud.” He laughed, grabbed Cloud’s wrist and pulled Cloud's hand off his chest, then slammed it above Cloud’s head against the stainless steel of the fridge. “You’ve never been able to get rid of me when you hated me. What makes you think that’s going to be any different, now?”

“Goddamn it.” Cloud growled at him, but Sephiroth knew him enough by now to know the heat flashing in his eyes wasn’t just anger. “Your tofu surprise is burning.”

Sephiroth was so focused on Cloud, he’d forgotten about his dinner on the stove. The smell was beginning to take on a slightly charred scent, but he grabbed Cloud by the throat and kissed him, hard, crowding him as much as he could.

Cloud gave back as good as he got, like always.

"Does this mean you get a last name, now?" Cloud asked, later, as they were cleaning up the dishes. "I was never sure if Hojo was his first or last name." 

Neither was Sephiroth. The idea of calling him anything besides "Professor" or "Doctor" seemed absurd. "It's not as if there's a lot of people running around with my name, so I'm not entirely sure I need one." 

"Still." Cloud smiled at him, and then he laughed. It was a clear sound, like a bell. "If you have to choose between Sephiroth Crescent and Sephiroth Valentine, I don't know what to tell you. They're both ridiculous." 

"Your last name is  _Strife_ ," Sephiroth pointed out. 

"Yeah, well, you can't lie and say it's not appropriate. Maybe you should just pick one for yourself. I have a few suggestions, if you want. A whole list." He smirked. 

"I'll just bet you do." 

***

_He’s standing in the middle of a forest, barren trees with their branches arching into the sky like bent bones._

_Beneath his boots the dirt is cracked and lifeless. Above, the sky burns yellow like the sun at the height of day, relentless and so hot he can feel sweat on his brow, on his neck beneath the collar of his uniform._

_He walks for a little while, but there’s nothing much to see and the landscape remains uninspired. Just dead earth, dead trees and a dead stream bed full of nothing but stones._

_And then he notices that it’s begun to rain._

_Sephiroth holds his hands out, watches the water run through his fingers and onto the ground. The air begins to cool and the sky begins to shift subtly from fire-orange to stormcloud gray. He looks down and watches as the water smooths the cracks in the earth, as it starts to fill the barren, empty bed of the vanished stream._

_The branches of the trees do not move, but from his vantage point he can see them begin to blossom._

_He looks down again. A single flower has grown by his feet, springing from the newly-made mud, stretching tall and perfect and seemingly unaffected by the rain or wind or the mud._

_“Subtle,” he says, and goes down on his haunches. He does not touch the flower, but looks at it expectantly._

_“I would say I told you so,” says a voice, which inexplicably sounds like it’s coming from the flower. It also sounds way too smug. “But it’s not quite time, yet. Still. Isn’t this nice? Things living instead of dying?”_

_“It is a dream,” Sephiroth says, flatly. “And a very obvious one, at that.”_

_“That’s the only way you notice anything, apparently," says the flower._

_Sephiroth tore this flower from the earth once, but he doesn’t do it again. Still. He hopes the meddlesome flower knows that he’s considering it. “You did this to me, didn’t you?”_

_“You’ll remember when it's time. And when you do, come to my church. Bring me a flower.” The lightness of the voice changes to something else, endless and ageless, but not the blood-pulse-electric timbre of Jenova's voice, when she used to speak to him. “You can’t stop Spring when it comes, Sephiroth.”_

_Above him, there’s a slight rumble of thunder._

_“It’s never going to go away. This part of me.” He knows that, can feel it. The water will fill the barren land and the trees will come to life and the flowers will bloom, and there will still be a storm waiting to rage inside of him. He will still dream of fire and wake tasting ashes in his mouth._

_“You can’t stop the winter, either,” the flower says. “All you can do is find someplace warm and wait for spring.”_

_There are no further trite platitudes from the bratty botanical, so Sephiroth turns his face up to the storm, closes his eyes and tastes the rain._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so intrigued by Vincent being Seph's father, but I'm not actually a thousand percent sure where to go with that idea in this story (I have a plot percolating with Turk!Cloud and Seph's!Dad!Vincent, but I'm playing thru the original game to see if it will work, lmao). I have a few chapters left to figure it out, though! 
> 
> Also my god i love writing Aerith I want to write some AU where she and Zack live happily ever after because I love them so much ;;;
> 
> I swear guys there's more actual Cloud/Sephiroth content in the next chapter because they gotta talk about Zack ;;
> 
> ALSO JFC I'M SORRY HOW MANY TIMES PEOPLE BLINK IN THIS CHAPTER WTF IS WRONG WITH ME


	19. bruise pristine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cloud and Sephiroth's second attempt at a duel goes much better than the first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wraps up the "hanging out at Healin, falling in love" portion of the fic so here's some domestic-ness for you. which b/c it's cloud and sephiroth is fighting with swords, cleaning wounds, shower sex and a late night conversation. literally that is the entirety of this chapter. 
> 
> next chapter MAY be split POV i'm just warning you now and by "you" i mean me, the author, who has to talk myself into that being okay. 
> 
> (i have made up cloud strife's sexual history and it's bleak and nameless because it's _cloud strife_.)
> 
> any canonical mistakes with regard to timeline i don't care because it's impossible to keep it straight thank you.

When he noticed Sephiroth staring at nothing without blinking for longer than five seconds, Cloud decided he’d had enough.

He understood that Vincent’s visit had shaken Sephiroth, mainly because he hadn’t expected to care if Vincent was his father or not – and yet he clearly did, as they’d arranged for the test to be done and to get the results following the press conference. Cloud was well aware by now that Sephiroth reacted to evidence of his humanity with either relief or outrage, and he’d mostly left Sephiroth alone to deal with the fallout of Vincent’s visit.

But two days of blank stares was pushing it.

Cloud stood up and threw aside the book he’d been reading. “You owe me a battle.”

Sephiroth turned to look at him, slow enough to be appropriately creepy. Cloud gave it a six out of ten. It wasn’t his best work. “Do I.”

“Yeah,” Cloud said. “You do.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “The last one ended when you handed me your seven-foot sword and asked me to kill you with it in front of a gazebo.”

Sephiroth looked vaguely embarrassed, as he should. “You want us to spar.”

“Yeah.” They had two days until he was supposed to take Sephiroth down to Edge for the press conference at Shinra HQ. Cloud was all for putting off difficult conversations until the last possible moment.

Sephiroth uncurled from his chair and stood up to face Cloud.  He did it so gracefully it nearly took Cloud’s breath away. “And you’re not afraid it might end badly?”

“It hasn’t yet, so no,” said Cloud.  

“I didn’t mean just for you,” Sephiroth said, but the chill in his eyes eased and he was blinking like a regular person. “What if once we start fighting, I try and kill you?”

“Then I stop you.” Cloud shrugged. “I’m not worried. Go put on that fetish gear you call a uniform and let’s do this.”

Sephiroth rolled his eyes and headed to his bedroom, and Cloud went down the hallway toward his own. He felt a tingle of excitement at the thought of – finally – sparring with Sephiroth, and maybe he was a _little_ worried that there would be another unexpected surprise but whatever it was, he could handle it.

And then he saw Sephiroth in his uniform, and wondered if maybe that was a lie.

Sephiroth wasn’t an overly expressive man to begin with, even when he wasn’t doing his impression of a marble statue. But his smooth features combined with that familiar uniform made Cloud stop in his tracks.

Then, without thinking about it, Cloud took an instinctive step backward and half-raised his sword. In the hallway. Which wasn’t tall enough, and some of the plaster fell down into his hair and his eyes, but he didn’t take his gaze off Sephiroth long enough to wipe it away.

Sephiroth made a face at him. “Don’t you _dare_ be intimidated by me in this ridiculous outfit, Cloud.” He sounded miffed, and human enough that Cloud’s flight-or-fight response eased up so he could brush the bits of plaster off his face.

“Sorry. It’s effective, that’s all. Isn’t that the point of it?” Cloud took a step forward, only a little cautious. He kept his eyes on Sephiroth’s face, remembering the man who’d swept up the dirt Cloud tracked in own his boots, not the one who’d driven a sword through his chest.

“It’s ridiculous,” Sephiroth muttered.

“Then why are you wearing it?”

“You told me to,” Sephiroth said. He held his arms out. Somehow his sword did not hit the ceiling. “Behold as I accommodate you.”

Cloud crossed his arms over his chest and tapped the toe of his boot on the floor. “I meant why did you _start_ wearing it.”

Sephiroth sighed. “Shinra’s PR department, remember?”

“Hmm.” Cloud looked down at the straps crossing Sephiroth’s chest, and saw reddened marks from last night on Sephiroth’s pale skin, left by Cloud’s mouth and his fingernails. The memory, combined with Sephiroth in his full battle regalia, fucked a bit with his head even if he didn’t want it to.

“Genesis wore a shirt with his,” Sephiroth said. “But it was mesh, and I didn’t see the point of that. It’s not like it offered any protection, and these coats are hot enough without adding pointless layers.”

He sounded so disgruntled, Cloud almost smiled. But then he thought about what he was hearing, and blinked up at Sephiroth in surprise. “Genesis had the same coat?” His memories of Genesis were hazy at best.

“Yes, it was red. Angeal had a blue one, but he put it in his closet and I neve once saw him wear it.”

“You and your SOLDIER boyfriends had matching coats,” Cloud said, slowly digesting this information. His mouth quirked, and then he all-out smiled as his shoulders shook with laughter. “Well, there goes being intimidated.” He reached out and tugged lightly at the straps crossing Sephiroth’s chest.

“It wasn’t my idea,” Sephiroth huffed – actually huffed – at him.

Cloud didn’t respond, but he did tug Sephiroth down by the crossed leather and kiss him. “I do like the boots.”

Sephiroth bit him in response, obviously still annoyed. “Shall we? The battle you were so determined to have, Cloud? If you wanted to go to bed, you’re undoing all the straps on these pants.”

Cloud snorted and pulled back. “Come on.” There was a bounce in his step as he headed outside for their duel, his nervousness now entirely about making sure he didn’t embarrass himself while sparring.

They went to the back near the gazebo and faced each other. Before Cloud could say anything, Sephiroth slowly raised his right hand into the air to the sky, and flicked his wrist back.

It was the same gesture as the one he’d made before their last actual fight to the death, on the ruined Shinra Tower in Edge. Cloud glanced up at the sky, as if waiting for the clouds to start to churn.

Sephiroth laughed.

It wasn’t an evil laugh, or a restrained chuckle – it was an actual laugh, deep-chested and full of obvious amusement. He was even smiling. Smiling with _teeth_.

Cloud glared at him so hotly he half-expected Sephiroth to burst into flames. “What is wrong with you?”

“The look on your face.” Sephiroth dropped his hand and laughed again. “That was for the comment about my coat.” He shifted the masamune over his shoulder in his typical ready stance and waited. “Well?”  

Cloud rushed him.

As with their previous duel, it took a little while before their blades made contact. When they did, they both paused for a second. Cloud waited, and Sephiroth responded with a half-nod, so they went back to fighting.

Even knowing Sephiroth wasn’t trying to kill him didn’t make the battle any less fierce. Sephiroth was a terrifying combatant, and Cloud was definitely going to have to chill with the acrobatics and concentrate more on his footwork. Sephiroth was dictating the fight and nothing Cloud could do was changing that.

Unlike his usual battles with Sephiroth, this one was mostly silent. The air sang with the sounds of their blades meeting, but Sephiroth’s dramatic monologues were missing.

It was strange, and Cloud couldn’t say he _missed_ them, entirely, but it did add a different dynamic to the fight. Though it could just be that they were doing this for fun, even if anyone who wandered by might think otherwise.

Sephiroth wasn’t trying to kill him, but he didn’t temper his swordplay entirely and Cloud had more than a few cuts from the masamune. They weren’t anything more than a scratch, but they made Cloud angry enough to fight harder.

There was no way to keep score when both combatants could backflip and one could literally fly, but Cloud knew he was soundly getting thrashed.

Sephiroth settled on top of the house and looked down at him. He sliced the masamune through the air and stopped with it at his side, the tip of the blade gently touching the ground in a ready stance. He was waiting for Cloud to do the same, and that was the single most respectful thing Sephiroth had ever done in a battle.

Cloud wanted to keep fighting because he was annoyed at his poor showing, but his body ached and his lungs hadn’t felt this awful since he was fighting a Sephiroth who _hadn’t_ tempered his swordplay and had actually impaled him.

Cloud shook his head for a moment and braced his hands on his knees, fighting to breathe. “Need – a minute.” The words were a wheeze, but Sephiroth’s hearing was keen enough that Cloud knew he’d heard him.

He descended from the roof and landed in front of Cloud. He didn’t have that untouchable would-be god thing going on – his hair was tangled and his face was flushed – but he wasn’t breathing hard at all. “You were much better when you stopped showing off.”

Cloud straightened and stared at him, breathing too hard to talk and hoping his expression made his _you’re telling me that?_ Clear.

Clearly Cloud’s disbelief came through loud and clear. “Your strength is in your quickness and your ability to track your target. When you complicate your attacks you lose your focus and it shows in your offensive maneuvers.”

“You—can’t – be – serious,” Cloud panted.

“I usually always am,” Sephiroth said.

“I’ve won every single time we’ve fought,” Cloud reminded him. Never mind he was still gasping for breath.

“Not this time,” said Sephiroth, with an infuriatingly superior smirk. He gave Cloud an elegant bow, but despite the smirk it didn’t look at all mocking. “Thank you for the duel, Cloud.”

“If we weren’t fighting to the death, how can we tell who won?” Cloud protested, though he knew as well as Sephiroth who’d won that fight and that it wasn’t Cloud.

“You’re the one who’s bleeding,” Sephiroth pointed out. “Come inside and let me see how badly.”

“They’re just scratches,” Cloud mumbled, irritated at being treated like a trainee. He knew he should be thrilled that they’d fought and nothing horrible had happened, but he was still too miffed at what he thought of as a poor performance on his end.

Sephiroth had shed his sword, coat and those ridiculous straps on his chest and was waiting for Cloud in his bedroom. Cloud leaned his sword against the wall and frowned at the first-aid kit on the bed. “It’s really not that bad.”

“Take your shirt off and sit down.” Sephiroth gestured to the bed. He took a long drink from a bottle of water, nodding at a similar bottle on the bed for Cloud.

Still feeling ornery, Cloud pulled his shirt off. Now that his adrenaline had faded, he could feel the cuts on his shoulders, his back and his stomach stinging from the sweat. He glanced down at himself and frowned. “I didn’t even feel it when you gave me most of these.”

“It’s the sharpest blade on the Planet,” Sephiroth said with a shrug. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate my holding back.”

Gods, maybe he should have. Cloud sat cross-legged on the large bed and uncapped the bottle of water with fingers that were trembling a little with exertion. He didn’t say anything, going over the battle in his head and wondering if he’d done as badly as he thought.

“You’re very good.” Sephiroth pulled off the boots (which, Cloud was a little sad about) and undid the straps so he was barefoot in his black uniform pants. He sat across from Cloud on the bed and opened the first aid kit, then unceremoniously pulled Cloud’s arm toward him and started cleaning the cuts with a pad soaked in antiseptic.

Feeling like a petulant recruit, Cloud responded accordingly. “Whatever.”

Sephiroth glanced away from the cut on Cloud’s arm and met his gaze. His brow furrowed. “You seem angry. I meant it. You’re very good. You weren’t selected for SOLDIER but I imagine it had more to do with your height than your abilities.”

“Yeah. That’s what they said.” Cloud remembered being crushed when he’d been denied entry into the SOLDIER organization, but in hindsight he supposed it didn’t really matter. “Tall enough to carry a gun and die for Shinra, though,” he said, referring to his infantry position. He shook his head. “I wonder why it never occurred to anyone that Shinra was recruiting sixteen-year-olds to go fight a war.”

Sephiroth turned his arm over, his fingers warm and gentle as they skirted over Cloud’s cuts to make sure they weren’t too deep. “The point of an infantry is always to lend numbers, nothing more.”

Cloud blinked, but he couldn't really argue. He hissed in pain as Sephiroth used the antiseptic on a cut that was worse than the others. “This place is called Healin and there aren’t any healing potions?”

“Yet one more note for the poor review I’ll be leaving Rufus,” Sephiroth said. He gazed thoughtfully at Cloud’s arm. “I think you tried to block my parry with your forearm. I wouldn’t do that. That sword of yours is large and clearly you’re married to the idea of a weapon that relies on blunt force trauma, so you need to find a way to match that with your offensive style.”

Cloud opened his mouth to – something – and then it occurred to him what was going on. He felt like a trainee because Sephiroth was treating him like one. He was arguably the best swordsman on the Planet and he’d ran Cloud ragged, but now he was giving him tips on how to improve. Which is what, Cloud supposed, he would have done if Cloud was in training for the SOLDIER program.

Gods, Sephiroth must have been insufferable in SOLDIER. He felt bad for Zack. But if Cloud wanted human Sephiroth…this was probably the most authentic version thereof, complete with infuriating lectures.

“You’re – that was – I’ve never seen anyone fight like you,” Cloud said, slowly. “And you would have won, if you’d fought me like that the last time.” He took Sephiroth’s wrist and drew his hand up to Cloud’s chest, pressing it against the scar from their battle in Edge. “This should have killed me. It didn’t because you didn’t go for the kill like you should have.”

There was a slight slash on Cloud’s skin, right directly over his heart, from their battle today. It wasn’t bleeding and it would fade by morning, but it was clear evidence that if Sephiroth had driven the blade in deep he would have pierced Cloud’s heart.

“You didn’t fight me like you were human. You fought like a god who thought he couldn’t lose. That’s why you did.”

Sephiroth didn’t say anything, but his strange eyes remained fixed on Cloud’s.

“You played with me like a cat with a mouse,” Cloud continued. “And I won because you were too arrogant to think you might not.”

“I told you. Overcomplicating your offense makes it difficult to keep track of your enemy.” Sephiroth lifted one bare shoulder. “Do as I say, not as I do, hmm?”

Cloud was still working through this new realization. “I won our fight in Nibelheim because you were distracted, and then you weren’t strong enough to stop me from using my weight as a counterbalance since you’d lost so much blood. The second time, I was jacked up on materia and magic with the support of everyone who fought with me. The only duel we’ve ever really had, just the two of us and our swords, was the last one. And you should have won.”

Cloud tapped two fingers against the slight mark above his heart.  “Today you fought like a human and you were…unreal. I couldn’t win. I could barely hold my own against you.”

“The stakes weren’t high enough,” said Sephiroth. “And you did more than hold your own, Cloud. From one soldier to another, believe me when I tell you that you fought well.”

If he’d been sixteen, hearing Sephiroth praise his fighting skills would have been the secret dream of his as-yet-unbroken heart. But he wasn’t sixteen, and his heart, while not broken, still bore scars. “Thanks.”

“It makes sense, I suppose.” Sephiroth neatly returned everything to the first-aid kit before throwing away the items he’d used to clean Cloud’s few cuts. “Not necessarily the first two times – I should have been able to disarm you in Nibelheim, even half-dead.”

Of course he would say that. Sephiroth always had been arrogant, even before he went mad. “Well, you couldn’t,” Cloud muttered. He resisted the childish urge to stick his tongue out.

Sephiroth came to stand by the edge of the bed and glanced down at him. “I’m aware, Cloud.” His eyes touched on the marks he’d left with the masamune. It was impossible to read his expression. “Much like the Turks, I was taught to strike to kill. I’m sure I meant to kill you eventually, on the Tower.”

“How reassuring,” Cloud said dryly. “And you would have, if you hadn’t started talking. You asked me if it was the pain I felt before, and told me this time I wouldn’t forget.”

Sephiroth reached down and drew his fingers over the scar, his eyes hot on Cloud’s. “And have you?”

“No.” Cloud shivered lightly under the touch. “You also told me to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness. What was I supposed to be forgiven for? I wanted to ask, but the building was falling down. I figured it was killing you, but nothing I apparently think about you is ever right, so.”

Sephiroth was quiet, his long fingers still tracing up and down Cloud’s scar on his chest. “Bringing me back,” he said, at length.

“It wasn’t me that brought you back,” Cloud protested.

“Of course it was. It’s always you. It will always _be_ you.” Sephiroth’s fingers ghosted over the newer, fresher marks that were already fading on Cloud’s skin. Cloud shivered. “I was born to be a killer, Cloud. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“Then learn,” Cloud said. He got to his feet, body aching pleasantly from their fight. “But keep sparring with me. I’ll get better and beat you one of these days, fair and square.”

“No one ever wins by fighting fair,” said Sephiroth, raising his hand to rub his thumb over Cloud’s lower lip. “Zack used to say that all the time. He thought it was funny.”

Cloud smiled briefly at that and nipped at Sephiroth’s thumb. Of course Zack would think that was funny.

“He used to call me,” Sephiroth continued. “No one ever phoned me unless it was mission related. But he did. Sometimes to tell me a joke that inevitably wasn’t funny, and sometimes to ask me if he could borrow my ID since he didn’t have access to the floors with the, and I quote, _way better vending machines, Seph._ ”

Talking about Zack was still hard for Cloud. His feelings about his friend were complicated at best; a confusing mixture of memories, hero-worship, sexual attraction and admiration. But while he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about how he felt about Zack, it was interesting to hear about him from Sephiroth’s perspective. “He called you Seph?”

“Yes. I’m not sure why. He must have heard Genesis or Angeal call me that.”

Cloud was surprised _anyone_ had called Sephiroth that. “Were you friends? You and Zack, I mean.”

Sephiroth hesitated before answering. “He thought so.”

Cloud gave him a moment, then said, “And did you?”

“I told you. I was born to be a killer. I wasn’t supposed to have friends, but soldiers function as a unit so it was inevitable that I would befriend Angeal and Genesis when they joined me as Firsts,” Sephiroth said, as if he were reciting a lab report. “Zack was promoted after they were declared dead. I wasn’t…the idea of having anyone close to me again did not appeal, necessarily, but I trusted Zack. Perhaps if Nibelheim hadn’t happened, we might have been friends.”

Zack Fair had been marked for execution in Nibelheim, and when Sephiroth didn’t kill him, Shinra troops did it for him four years later. Cloud shivered from the hazy memory of Zack dying in a hailstorm of bullets. 

That would have been the former President’s call. The former president, who Sephiroth had slain in his office. Cloud knew he shouldn’t be happy about that, but he was anyway.

“I need a shower,” he mumbled. “You want to come with me?”

Sephiroth looked a bit surprised by the invitation, but he followed Cloud into the spacious bathroom. When Cloud had him pushed up against the shower wall, he wrapped a handful of Sephiroth’s hair around his wrist and sank to his knees.

“I’m not doing this for forgiveness,” said Cloud, glancing up at him. “Just so we’re clear.”

He gave a sharp tug on Sephiroth’s hair as he opened his mouth, turning whatever Sephiroth was going to say into a hiss of pleasure. He took Sephiroth’s cock deep and fast, getting him to the edge with brutal efficiency. He closed his eyes as the water ran down around him, mind momentarily clear, hands running up Sephiroth’s muscular thighs.

Eventually Cloud stood up on shaking knees and turned around, presenting his back to Sephiroth and putting his hands on the shower wall. He still had Sephiroth’s hair wrapped around his wrist so he gave it a tug and said, “C’mon.”

Sephiroth was suddenly right there, pressed up warm and hot and wet behind him, his cock an iron length against Cloud’s ass. It was only the second time Cloud had felt like being fucked since Sephiroth’s memories came back, and he chalked it up to Sephiroth’s admittedly attractive competency in battle and not the way he looked shirtless in those boots.

Or maybe it was both.

He did, however, turn his head at one point and murmur, “This is a much better present than despair, _Seph._ ”

Sephiroth was standing behind him, hands gripping hard at Cloud’s hips as he fucked him. His wet hair was plastered to his head, eyes wide and unblinking despite the water running down his face. For a moment, Cloud would have sworn he looked like he was going to laugh.

“Don’t tempt me to correct you,” he said, smiling sharp-edged like his blade.

Cloud shivered, and they both knew it wasn’t from fear.

***

Cloud’s entire body was tired from the sparring and the sex, but he found himself unable to sleep that night. He flipped around in bed a few times, earned an elbow in the gut and a “go sleep in your own bed if you can’t settle down, Strife,” from Sephiroth, with an accompanying lecture about how Cloud’s energy drink habit was contributing to his poor sleep.

“Maybe you should have tired me out more,” Cloud retorted, in a half-hearted attempted to goad Sephiroth into a blowjob.

It didn’t work.

Cloud settled on his back and stared up at the ceiling, thinking. He didn’t move around as much as before and didn’t say anything or even sigh, but eventually Sephiroth turned on his side to stare at him. There was enough light coming in from the window to illuminate his features, and his mako-enhanced eyes glowed slightly.

He was obviously annoyed. “I wasn’t even doing anything,” Cloud muttered.

“Except not sleeping.”

“How did you know?” Cloud said, scowling over at him. “I barely moved.”

“There is no one on this Planet or beyond to whom I am more attuned,” Sephiroth began, in a voice a shade too bombastic to be entirely genuine.

“Oh my Gods,” Cloud interrupted, smacking a hand against his own forehead. “Forget I asked.”

“This happened with Gen all the time,” Sephiroth said. “He slept in the middle and Angeal didn’t notice when Gen couldn’t sleep because Angeal slept like the dead, but I always noticed. Then Genesis would complain that I was taking up too much room, but when I said I’d sleep on the couch, he got annoyed. There was no way to win.”

Cloud was thrown by this little domestic tidbit of information. “I can’t believe you were in a three-way relationship,” he said. “I can’t believe anyone would _want_ to be, it sounds like a lot of work.”

“I’m not sure how typical of a relationship it was.” Sephiroth moved so he was also lying on his back with his hands behind his head. “Genesis and Angeal were together from the moment they showed up at Shinra. Angeal befriended me and Genesis was constantly trying to one-up me, which Angeal explained later was his version of befriending me.”

“Yeah, I get that people are friends,” Cloud said, though honestly, that was a lesson he’d learned far later in life than most people – including Sephiroth. “It’s the…other part…I’m having trouble with.”

“Sex?” Sephiroth sounded amused. “You can say the word, Cloud. You quite emphatically told me to _fuck me harder,_ earlier, in the shower.”

Cloud pulled a hand from behind his head and flopped it over to strike Sephiroth lightly on his bare chest. “I meant the romantic part. Though I don’t really know how sex with three people works.” Sex with one person was overwhelming enough for Cloud. Especially having it with Sephiroth.

“Angeal made me a birthday cake, and there was some ridiculous conversation about liking pears and apples, and then I asked if we were going to bed because I knew how they were looking at me even if I didn’t know what I was doing when we got into bed.”

Cloud looked over at him in surprise. “They weren’t – they weren’t your first, were they?”

“Yes, they were.” Sephiroth met his eyes calmly. “I had a sheltered upbringing, and they sent me to war before I was eighteen. Since there were no other Firsts before Angeal and Genesis, I didn’t associate with anyone but Hojo and dignitaries the President insisted I meet.”

Cloud often forgot how young Sephiroth was back before everything went to hell. As a kid, Sephiroth had seemed like this ageless, flawless hero with all the world’s knowledge and experience. In reality, he’d been a teenager. “Huh.”

He didn’t want to ask, but suddenly very much wanted to know. “You and Zack…?”

“No. Never. Zack was already quite enamored of Aerith at that point, and I was…not thinking about anything close to physical intimacy. That was always hard enough with Genesis and Angeal even before they left. After, it wasn’t something I was interested in.”

“Why was it hard before?” Cloud asked.

“Whenever anyone touched me, especially when I was naked, it was never a pleasant situation.” His voice was flat. “It wasn’t easy to put myself in that situation willingly and trust the result wouldn’t be the same.”

Of course. Cloud had spent time in Hojo’s tanks, and even though his memories were hazy and broken things, he knew enough to recall how unpleasant it was when the good doctor deigned to check in. As Shinra’s prize weapon, Sephiroth would have spent a lot of time with Hojo, and he would have been much more conscious when he did.

“My body was never mine. It was for Hojo’s experiments, or Shinra’s top brass to check in on their investment.”

Cloud felt his stomach turn. He hadn’t thought of that, but it wasn’t a surprise. Gods. Shinra had done their best to make Sephiroth a weapon, and of course part of dehumanizing him would be to force a disconnect between his mind and his body. It was years of systematic abuse, and no wonder he’d gone half-mad when the only human connections he’d managed to make were torn away and thrown back in his face.

It didn’t absolve Sephiroth of his crimes, but added to the knowledge of Hojo’s “killswitch” it certainly went a long way in explaining why he’d done them. For the first time, Cloud remembered Sephiroth telling him, before his memories returned, that his concern was how completely he’d believed in the rationality of what he was doing, crazy though it all was.

Well, Cloud wasn’t going to let him think he was the son of an alien, a god or a Cetra, so there was that.

“So it was the two of them and me, huh.” Cloud tried to turn that over in his mind. “You’re not attracted to women at all?”

“I don’t think so. Even when I – when it was just me, alone, it wasn’t women I thought of.”  Sephiroth was quiet for a moment. “They might have made certain of that, just so I wouldn’t cause unnecessary complications by having children.”

Cloud’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think that’s something they can engineer, is it?”

“I have no idea, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

Cloud remembered telling Sephiroth that if this was going to work, they needed to be people. Since Sephiroth had answered all his questions, Cloud offered his own. “I was confused about that. As a kid I had a few crushes on girls. Then I went to Midgar and…there was a boy in my training class. We didn’t do anything, but I thought about it. And then I met Zack.”

The silence stretched between them. Maybe Sephiroth had known that, about Cloud’s infatuation with Zack.

 “I’ve never had sex with anyone whose name I know,” Cloud said, finally, laying it out. “It’s only been a few times, mostly guys I met at bars. Guys who wanted to go to bed with me because I could pin them down and be rough. Everyone I should have felt some kind attraction to, I never did. Except Aerith, and that was Zack, not me.”

For a second, he wondered if he’d bored Sephiroth into sleep. But Cloud should have known better. Sephiroth was too attuned to Cloud to ignore him. They wouldn’t be here otherwise.

“Chaos implied you were attracted to Vincent.”

Cloud was glad it was dark, because that made his face flush. “I always thought he was attractive, yeah. The cape and the swirling hair.”

“And the demon. Let me guess. You also think Rufus Shrina and Tseng are attractive.”

That was true on both counts, but it was annoying that Sephiroth picked up on it so easily. “Shut up.” The point was to share information, though, so he said, “Yeah, fine, they’re both attractive.” God, Cloud hoped all those recording devices really _were_ gone.

Sephiroth laughed softly, less evil chuckle and more quiet amusement. “It’s not that hard to figure out you have a thing for danger, Strife.”

“What about you?” Cloud demanded. “Besides threesomes, what’s your type?”

“Hmm.” Sephiroth was suddenly there, straddling him, the fall of his hair blocking some of the light from the window. “I suppose it’s _annoyingly chatty night-owls_.”

Cloud kissed him to shut him up. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....i really think Sephiroth's uniform is RIDICULOUS can you tell, but the idea that the three Firsts had matching coats makes me happy okay  >>
> 
> (Fyi: "This is a much better present than despair, Seph," = my favorite thing to write in this fic because wtf sephiroth your battle monologues are absurd) 
> 
> next chapter: Sephiroth speaks at a press conference for only the second time ever, and gets some news. and figures out wtf to do with the life he got back. 
> 
> three chapters and an epilogue to go, i think. and a few stories i want to write in this 'verse, so. thank you for sticking it out with me!


	20. running up that hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Standing there with the sunlight in his eyes, listening to Rufus Shinra spin a version of his past that changed him from a vengeful, sadistic would-be demigod to a heroic soldier who died trying to protect the people – it was made astonishingly clear to him that he’d never been anything but what other people told him to be.
> 
> Or: Sephiroth's agenda for his visit at Shinra HQ: press conference, retire, meet with a geneticist, watch Cloud threaten the geneticist, be more surprised by that than the information actually learned from said geneticist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I'm not a geneticist. At all. Not even a little. If it doesn't sound possible, just blame it on the mako, k? 
> 
> Also I like how I said this would be a split chapter POV and then it was so long I actually had to cut 800 words of what happens next to switch to Cloud's POV because lolwordy, that's me :|

 

Chapter 20

_The dreamscape looks different. It’s no longer cracked and dead ground, a gaping maw where life-giving water once flowed, tree branches meeting in angry opposition in a sky as red as spilled blood._

_There are flowers pushing through the mud, there are blossoms soothing the barren trees, there’s a sky full of clouds and yes, thank you, Sephiroth thinks, I get your point, my subtle little blossom._

_Her name is still the one that makes Cloud’s eyes go glacial. It’s not Cloud’s coldness Sephiroth wants._

_((Needs.))_

_“Hello, Seph.”_

_The voice comes from behind him, and Sephiroth turns._

_It’s Genesis._

_Genesis, looking like Sephiroth remembers him; the red coat, the auburn hair, the wry sea-green eyes and the smirk on his full mouth. He’s leaning against a tree, eating a dumbapple. Loveless is tucked under one arm, of course._

_“Hello, Gen.”_

_He thinks of the last time he saw Genesis, desperate and afraid, turning into dust._

You will rot.

_“Your little stormcloud doesn’t give you enough credit for your one-liners,” Genesis says. “That one was nearly perfect.” He waves a hand. “Speaking of, I’m vaguely embarrassed about the entire thing, to be honest. The afterlife isn’t so bad. Angeal finally learned how to make a dumbapple pie without it burning.” He smiles, and Sephiroth had forgotten how attractive he was in good humor. “We make a chocolate raspberry cake on your birthday.”_

_“You don’t,” says Sephiroth._

_Genesis grins, that blade-edge to his smile that always made Sephiroth want to fuck him. “You’re right. We don’t.” He pushes off the tree and looks around. “I’m occasionally brought to speechlessness by how literal your subconsciousness is, Seph.”_

_That makes two of them. “How’s Angeal?”_

_Genesis tilts his head. “Not quite ready to see you, yet.” He rolls his eyes. “You know how honorable he is, and you did try and destroy the planet. Which, you know, that’s always been yours style, hasn’t it? Go big or go home.”_

_Sephiroth has no words for what he’s feeling.  “Why are you here?”_

_“You know I loved you, don’t you? Oh, I wanted to best you, I wanted you to fail sometimes simply because perfection is a dull bore. I envied your perfection and your fucking gorgeous eyelashes, but I loved you.” Genesis laughs at the look on his face. “I only know what the fuck love is because of Angeal. People like to think it’s this magical thing, love, and that we’ll know it when we feel it. But the truth, my silver-haired destroyer of worlds, is if no one loves us how do we know what it is when we feel it? We might think it’s something else entirely. Say…hate.”_

_“Sometimes it is,” says Sephiroth. He remembers Genesis at the end, using words to hurt him because as gifted as he was with a sword, those had always been Gen’s best weapons._

_“Sometimes it is,” Genesis agrees. He takes a bite of his apple. “Until we meet again, Seph.” He bows but doesn’t lower his head. He winks at Sephiroth instead, and then he is gone._

_It is the first time Sephiroth has dreamed about Genesis without it being a nightmare. Maybe that means something. Maybe it doesn’t._

_((It does)) says his flower. ((It means everything))._

***

“Sephiroth?” Cloud’s voice came floating down the hallway. “We should probably get going. You need some help with all those straps or something? I’m generally better at getting them off, but I can try –” Cloud stopped in the doorway and stared at him. “That’s not your uniform.”

“Of course it is.” Sephiroth looked at his reflection, tugged the zipper up on the high collar of the ribbed shirt. It fit perfectly, though he couldn’t imagine where this one had come from. The leather was a bit too stiff for it to have been his at any point in time. “This is the uniform of a SOLDIER First. That’s what I am.”  

“That’s Zack’s uniform,” Cloud blurted out, obviously unsettled. His eyes were wide.

“Yes. And it was Angeal’s, and mine.” Sephiroth tilted his head. “Technically we got them when we became seconds. I suppose it doesn’t matter, given that the organization doesn’t exist anymore.” 

“Why are you wearing this? And where did you even get it?”

Cloud had seen Sephiroth in this uniform in photographs, so Sephiroth wasn’t sure why he was so thrown by seeing it in person. “I asked Rufus to bring me one.”

Cloud snapped his fingers. “Ah. That’s what was in the bag Tseng gave you. But why?”

“Because I refuse to retire in that public relations – what was it you called it? Fetish gear?”

Cloud smiled slightly. “Yeah.”

“I have…memories that are not unpleasant, from my time wearing this.” Sephiroth glanced at himself in the mirror one last time. He looked older and his hair was longer in the front, but the sight of himself in the uniform as familiar enough to be a comfort. “Or at least, they’re not as unpleasant as some others.”

Cloud leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “You should lead with that at the press conference.”

“Don’t be silly. They won’t let me talk.” Sephiroth pulled his hair into a ponytail. “They did one time, and that was it.”

“What did you say?” Cloud held up a hand. “Wait, let me guess. Did it have to do with the sailing the cosmos with the planet as your vessel?”

Sephiroth arched a brow at him. “It’s not as if your battlefield chatter was particularly memorable, Cloud.”

“So that’s a no?”

Sephiroth took up his sword and sheathed it at his back. “They asked me how many casualties there were, and I answered them with the exact number.”

“Huh.” Cloud tilted his head. “Shrina didn’t want anyone knowing their troopers were killed in battle? And here I thought they were expendable cannon fodder.”

Sephiroth wondered if he were deliberately misunderstanding, then remembered that Cloud’s infantry experience hadn’t included the Wutai War. “The casualties weren’t Shinra’s. Not for this particular mission.”

“So they…what? Didn’t want you tell the world that Shrina’s army was good at its job?”

There hadn’t been anyone on that mission but Sephiroth. “They didn’t want me to speak of the enemy as casualties. It made them sound too human.”

Cloud reacted to that as Sephiroth figured he would, blanching slightly and then looking angry. “Of course. What was I thinking? Also, how did you know the exact….” He sighed. “It was just you.”

Sephiroth inclined his head. He could still remember that mission, the taste of smoke and the way the heat from the fire felt on his face. Lying in the jungle with his face pressed amidst trampled grass and leaves while the village burned.

He glanced at Cloud, whose eyes were focused somewhere else. Remembering when he, too, watched a village burn. Only Cloud wasn’t the one that set the fire.

“We have to talk about what happens when we leave here,” Cloud said. “And every time I think I can, I remember – who you are. What you are. What you’ve done, to me and the people I love.”

Sephiroth regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. Echoes of his dream rang in his head. “The first night I was here, you asked me if I would apologize for what I’d done. I told you I couldn’t, because I didn’t remember any of it. Now I remember.”

“I forgave you and I meant it.” Cloud tilted his chin. “What you think doesn’t matter.” _Strife_ suited him as a surname, but Sephiroth thought _Defiant_ would be a better choice. “But everyone else? Different story.”

Sephiroth wasn’t necessarily concerned with other people, but it mattered to Cloud and that…apparently meant something, even if he didn’t like it. “I find it difficult to regret things I cannot change.”

Cloud didn’t look upset by that. “I’d rather you not apologize unless you mean it. If you’re not sorry you’re not sorry. I probably have _guilt_ and _regret_ covered enough for the two of us.”

“You shouldn’t. But I’m sure hearing that does nothing. Especially from me.”

“Yeah, it kinda doesn’t. But I appreciate the gesture. I think.” Cloud pushed away from the door. “What if I told you I never wanted to see you again?”

Sephiroth moved toward him as Cloud stepped even closer; the same inexorable pull. “Has that ever worked before, Cloud?”

“You don’t hate me anymore,” Cloud said. He held up a hand as Sephiroth went to argue, because part of him _did_ hate Cloud and always would. “Or there’s something else there that’s stronger. Whatever that is…is it not strong enough to let me go?”

_Sometimes we think it’s hate, but it isn’t._

“That thing, Cloud…it isn’t just _about_ you. It _is_ you.” Sephiroth reached out, fingers lightly pressing over where he knew Cloud’s scar to be. The reminder that even when he’d had the chance to end Cloud’s life, he hadn’t taken it.

Sephiroth remembered the way it felt, clashing like gods in the sky above a city ruined by the lust for power and human greed. He wondered what he would do if he were to lose Cloud, his unwilling anchor keeping him tethered just on the right side of sanity.

Cloud’s eyes flashed and his breath caught as Sephiroth lowered his head. Perhaps his anchor wasn’t all that unwilling. “If what you want from me is battles in the sky, little stormcloud…then that is what I shall give you. Leave me and we’ll see what happens.”

“You’re not seriously saying if we break up you’re gonna summon another meteor, are you?” Cloud put two hands on Sephiroth’s chest, but didn’t push him away. “Also, stop calling me that. My name’s ridiculous enough as it is.”

“Your name suits you. You’re very moody.” Sephiroth kissed him, slowly, enjoying the way Cloud kissed back without ever giving in.

“Yeah, _I’m_ the moody one,” Cloud muttered. He glanced up at Sephiroth, eyes searching in a way that was more vulnerable than Sephiroth thought he might have intended. “I won’t leave you, but I won’t promise not to kill you if I need to.”

“As long as we’re clear.” Sephiroth stroked his fingers down Cloud’s chest, over the scar, as if he were trying to feel it through the thick material. “I’m trying to be honest, Cloud. Not tell you what you want to hear.”

Cloud gave an unhappy laugh and inclined his head. “I know. Just making sure I know what it means, being your moral compass or whatever.”

Sephiroth shook his head. “You can’t, Cloud. Not even the planet itself can align my moral compass back to true north, and regardless of the guilt and regret you carry, yours has never pointed anywhere else.”

Cloud looked, for a moment, utterly lost – and _young_ , with just a hint of the fresh-faced young infantryman who showed up in Midgar looking for glory, without realizing what it would cost to find it. “Then what am I?”

“You’re the moon that controls the tide of my inner darkness.”

Cloud blinked. Twice. “You literally can’t help yourself, can you?” His mouth twitched and he gave a stilted laugh. “Wow. _Wow._ The moon to your inner dark tide. That’s…I couldn’t have come up with that in a million years.”

“Yes, because I’ve mentioned before, you're not very good at that sort of thing. _There’s not a thing I don’t cherish?_ ” Sephiroth covered a pretend yawn with his hand.

Cloud hit him, hard, in the shoulder. “You know what I meant.”

Actually, he hadn’t. Not then. That he did now made his dark amusement vanish, thinking about that dream of his. “Then what would you call it?” Sephiroth asked. “If you’re determined to find a metaphor, what do you think is a better one?”

“I’m the guy who keeps you from doing stupid shit,” Cloud said flatly. “How’s that. No metaphor required. See how easy that was? Now come on, we gotta go or we’ll be late.”

“And afterward?” Sephiroth went to find the bag he’d packed. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to keep the clothing that had been here for him, but he had nothing else to wear. Shinra could consider it a part of his retirement package.

“Then we find somewhere to live, or as I’m sure you’d say it, hang my dark tide controlling moon so you can…crash on the sand without, uh, drowning ships or something.”

Sephiroth shouldered his bag. “I’d say metaphors aren’t your forte, Cloud.”

“Yeah, well, I really don’t think they’re yours, either, but okay. Let’s go.”

Sephiroth made sure the masamune was sheathed at his back, and followed Cloud outside. He left his old uniform hanging in the closet – but he did keep the boots.

***

The press conference was as boring as Sephiroth figured it would be.

Rufus had a designated place to meet the press, a nice open and airy conference room with glass walls and skylights that said clearly _see, we’re all about transparency and not stripping the planet of energy!_ Rufus was as subtle as a certain Cetra who kept showing up with her nature metaphors in his dreams.

Sephiroth was surprised how easy it was to fall back into the old habit of standing quietly next to someone in a suit and a podium with the Shinra logo.

The backstory they’d created (or, as Rufus said, “decided on”) for him was that Sephiroth had been injured in the reactor explosion at Nibelheim, fallen into stasis and lost his memories for a time. He’d lived an unremarkable life until very recently, when an accident had returned his true identity thanks to a knock in the head.

It was all very vague, and ridiculous, but perhaps less so than the truth.

“Sephiroth was not treated well by this organization,” Rufus said in his smooth voice. “He was brought up to be a ruthless soldier of fortune, trained to conduct clandestine missions for my father’s world-domination efforts. He was kept from his parents and weaponized from a young age. He was a symbol of the violence the old Shinra Electric Company thrived on, everything my father wanted for his empire.”

Oh, for the love of all the gods. Sephiroth’s eyes flickered to Cloud, who was leaning against the back wall much like he’d been leaning in the doorway back in Healin. He wasn’t even trying to keep the look of disdain off his face.

Sephiroth kept his expression neutral with ease of long practice, but privately agreed with him. It was hard to hear himself reduced to nothing but a tool for Shinra, Sr., but it was also the truth.

Standing there with the sunlight in his eyes, listening to Rufus Shinra spin a version of his past that changed him from a vengeful, sadistic would-be demigod to a heroic soldier who died trying to protect the people – it was made astonishingly clear to him that he’d never been anything but what other people told him to be.

His mother wanted a test subject, not a child. His father – or the man who raised him – wanted a testament to his own brilliance. Shinra wanted a perfect living weapon who would wage its wars and smile pretty on a recruitment poster. Jenova wanted a vessel for destruction.

There was enough of his parents to make him ambitious, enough of Shinra’s training to make him a killer and enough of Jenova to make him want to watch the world burn – but _who was he_?

 _Nothing but a puppet,_ his own voice sneered. For a moment, the sunlight in his eyes looked like fire.

 _There’s someone else,_ another voice murmured. _Genesis taught him how to play Scrabble. Angeal made him a birthday cake. Cloud helped him put together a gazebo and played chess with him._

“So after the reactor accident, you had no idea you were a famous SOLDIER operative?” one of the reporters asked, when Rufus was finished and allowed for questions. “You weren’t waiting for Meteorfall and some part of you thought maybe you could stop it?”

“No. I didn’t think about stopping it.” That was most certainly the truth.

Next to him, Rufus went tense but kept the pleasant smile in place. “Sephiroth is still dealing with the loss of his memories and acclimating himself to what’s happened in the years he’s been gone, so I’m sure you’ll understand if he’s not quite up to a thorough recounting of his whereabouts over the last however-many years.”

Apparently the press spoke politician, because they knew enough not to ask much after that. They asked what his plans were now, as a private citizen. “Are you going back to doing whatever you – uh, whatever you did before? When you didn’t know you were a soldier, I mean.”

“I’m certainly not interested in reliving the past.” Sephiroth answered the reporter, but he was looking at Cloud when he said it. It was as much an apology as he could honestly manage.

He was done being a puppet, a tool, a weapon, a vessel and a god. What that made him, he wasn’t quite sure.  But it would seem it was time to find out.

***

The new Shinra labs were underground, but there was nothing dank about them. They were all brightly lit, clean rooms – no locked doorways or shadowed corners, at least as far as Sephiroth could see.

They met with Dr. Kara Vaughn in her office. She was a pleasant woman with dark hair worn back in a low ponytail, she wasn’t wearing a lab coat and her handshake was firm, her gaze direct. Sephiroth had no idea how many of Shinra’s employees knew the truth about him, but she must know something if she was trusted with this project.

Cloud was the only other person in the room. Sephiroth had paused at the doorway, arching a brow at his obvious intention to invite himself along.

“Just here in case I need to repel your dark tides,” he’d said. “You don’t have a good history of learning things about your family.”

Technically, that wasn’t true – he’d learned about Lucrecia after he’d re-woken and been imprisoned in Edge, and he hadn’t decapitated anyone. But he let the point stand, and Cloud took up a position half-behind him – to either protect him or run him through.

“I have to tell you, this was…it was the most fascinating, and frustrating, genetic analysis I’ve ever done,” said Dr. Vaughn.

“Why does Shinra have you doing genetic research in the first place?” Cloud demanded.

“Well, I’m mostly here for the plants,” she said, seemingly unconcerned with Cloud’s suspicious, unfriendly tone. “The truth is, we relied on mako for so long, we’re still figuring out how it changes and adapts with natural genetic signatures. That’s why President Shinra asked me to look into your situation.”

“You’d think he’d know better than to call himself _president_ ,” muttered Cloud.

Sephiroth ignored him, because he wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Rufus wasn’t his father, but he was still his father’s son. “I was under the impression this was a fairly simple report to generate, given the available technology.”

“Yes, normally it is,” she agreed. “But instead of handing you a sheet of paper with the results, I have a slideshow. That should tell you something about how complicated it is.”

Sephiroth hadn’t expected anything less. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

She gestured to a blank wall and messed with her computer, adjusted something that was obviously the projector, and went to turn off the lights.

“No,” Cloud snapped, moving as if he were going for his weapon. “The lights stay on.”

Sephiroth didn’t blame him. These labs were nice and professional, but the thought of being in a Shinra scientist’s office in the dark didn’t sit well with him, either.  

“I – all right.” She glanced between the two of them curiously, likely wondering why it was Cloud who accompanied Sephiroth and not Rufus. “Let me start off by saying that the results of your test were technically inconclusive as to the identity of your biological father, so I’m sorry I don’t have a simple answer for you.”

Sephiroth laughed, though it wasn’t particularly amused. He waved a careless hand. “A vast understatement, I’m certain.”

Her mouth quirked. “You can say that. For our purposes, we’re going to say there are four subjects here. Subject A, Lucrecia Crescent, your mother. Subject B is Hojo.” She started pointing to the screen, which showed a complicated overlay of multi-colored…somethings. His DNA, Sephiroth supposed, though it was hard to make sense of the various cross-sections. “Subject C is Vincent Valentine, and Subject D is Jenova.

“Now, the particulars about some of this are above my security clearance so I’m not sure if I have the correct information to tell you this in a way that makes sense. But I’ll do my best. The reason your results are inconclusive is that genetic material from all four subjects was found in your DNA sample.”

“Uh,” said Cloud. “Is that possible?”

“Well, I hadn’t thought so.” Dr. Vaughn shook her head. “I ran the test four times, because I didn’t think it could be right. But it was. You carry the DNA of Lucrecia Crescent – who, as the only, ah, human female involved, is your mother. You also have Jenova’s cells, which I understand are from an experiment conducted on you when you were still _in utero_.”

“And afterward,” Sephiroth added.

“Yes, I had…some of Professor Hojo’s research notes to help me understand what I was looking at.” She made a face. “What a monster. I’m trying not to be too personal and to keep a professional distance, here, but what this information suggests….”

Pity was one thing Sephiroth was not interested in from anyone. The look he gave her made that more than clear. “Continue.”

“Jenova’s cells are inhuman, but they bonded with your human DNA structure. When that happened, they sort of….hmm. How to explain this.” She tapped her chin with her fingers. “Okay, think of it this way – Jenova’s cells became a sort of film that overlaid your genetic structure. It’s impossible to tell if the Jenova cells were present in Mr. Valentine or Dr. Hojo’s cells at the time they…joined with yours.”

“So either Lucrecia got pregnant by Vincent and Hojo injected the fetus with his own DNA, or vice versa?” Cloud cleared his throat. “Or, I guess, uh, someone else did the injecting, since Vincent was probably in a mako tank.”

“I want to ask so many questions, but I’m not stupid and it’s obvious I shouldn’t.” Dr. Vaughn shook her head. “Mr. Strife is correct, basically. You have DNA from both subjects, but I have no way of knowing which was present at the time of conception. Physically, you appear to have inherited most of your appearance traits from your mother, many of which were magnified and altered by Jenova.”  

Privately, Sephiroth thought his initial instincts were correct and that Hojo and Lucrecia were his biological parents. Though he hadn’t counted on having any of Valentine’s DNA, which complicated things further. Obviously his mother would have done that, but why? “Thank you. For explaining it.”

“Of course. I have to say, as confounding as this was, it’s absolutely fascinating to a geneticist. Especially given the addition of the mako. It’s interesting how much it reminds me of a project I’m working on for Shinra, where -- ”

She didn’t get to finish. Cloud was halfway across the room, backing her up against her desk with his sword out in seconds. “Whatever you’re planning, whatever you’re even _thinking_ about, don’t. Throw all this away and don’t look at any of it again.”

Dr. Vaughn put her hands up, trying to lean away from Cloud’s sword until she was practically doing a backbend over her own desk. “I – I’m not –”

“I’m not going to say this again. Shinra’s fucked with him enough. I don’t care how _interesting_ you think it is.” Cloud was practically snarling at her.

“I would _never_ ,” Dr. Vaughn began, eyes wide. “I just meant that – you know, maybe I should just let it go. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped.”  

“Cloud,” Sephiroth interrupted, once he could find his voice. Cloud coming to his defense had thrown him more than the test results. “I’m hardly likely to allow anyone here to touch me without pulling this entire building down around us all.”

“It’s not going to come that,” Cloud swore grimly, his eyes mako-bright as he stared hard at Dr. Vaughn. “You go back to your plants and you leave us alone.”

“Yes, of course.” She glanced at Sephiroth again. “I don’t plan on doing anything with this information, I promise.”  

“Cloud,” Sephiroth said, louder. “ _Cloud_.”

Cloud released her and stood back, sheathing his weapon. He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

That made two of them.

Sephiroth didn’t apologize to Dr. Vaughn on Cloud’s behalf – if Cloud wasn’t sorry, then Sephiroth certainly wasn’t – but he thanked her for her analysis. “I would find it a personal favor if you would destroy that and forget about it.”

“I really think you are overestimating my mad scientist aspirations,” she said, having remarkably recovered her equilibrium. “Here.” She handed over a folder. “This is my report and the findings just in case you want them. Consider it erased from my hard drive. I’ve got better things to do for the planet, anyway.”

“That’s how it always starts, though, isn’t it?” Sephiroth mused, glancing past her to the notes on her white board. “It’s only later that it all goes wrong. Believe me.” With that, he and Cloud took their leave.

Cloud stomped down the hallway toward the elevators like he was going to war.  

Sephiroth was still thrown by Cloud’s vehement defense of him, and trying to think if that had ever happened before outside of battle or training exercises. He caught Cloud’s arm before they rounded the corner where Rufus would be waiting. “You cannot think I was afraid of a plant geneticist.”

Cloud stared at him for a long time. His eyes had lost a bit of their glow, but he still looked angry. “You didn’t come back to be studied like some specimen by the Shinra science department, plant scientist or no.” Cloud pulled his arm out of Sephiroth’s grip. “Let’s get out of here.”

Sephiroth let him go, still unsettled and uncertain why he was so affected by Cloud’s coming to his defense. Obviously Cloud had his own reasons for being mistrustful of Shinra’s doctors and scientists, but he didn’t know what it meant that Cloud had defended _him,_ Sephiroth, instead of himself.

Maybe it didn’t mean anything.

 _((It does))_ a voice echoed. _((It means everything.))_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it seems like I'm cheating with the thing about Seph's father, but I promise it ties into the last chapter. PROMISE.


	21. life's what you make it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her stare was heavy, weighted, and for a moment he felt like he did in sky above the fallen Shinra Tower; tied down by a thousand strings to people he couldn’t see, promises he couldn’t break and the world relying on the strength of his blade and the quickness of his mind. Seeing Sephiroth’s perfect face, his own fallen angel back to battle for the world Cloud couldn’t stop trying to save. 
> 
> Gods. Maybe he really did have more of a martyr complex than he wanted to admit. But there was more to it than that, and Cloud had to trust in that even if he knew no one else could see it but him. 
> 
> (Or: Cloud tries to explain why he's tired of fighting, and how maybe the planet will only move on if they do)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, and then an epilogue! \o/
> 
> Also, FYI, I've chosen to totally ignore the whole thing where Genesis is still alive. (FOR NOW)

Cloud knew he was overreacting. Dr. Vaughn hadn’t done anything but remark on Sephiroth’s admittedly interesting genetic signature, and Cloud had drawn on her like she was some kind of villain determined to destroy the world.

Cloud might have learned to accept Rufus and his Turks as, if not friends, _frenemies_ at the very least. But Shinra scientists were something else.

He was too unsettled to want to deal with Rufus, so he left Sephiroth to do that and went outside. They’d repaired the Meteorfall monument, and there were additions for the Geostigma and the battle his friends had fought against Bahamut SIN.

The battle when Cloud had been on the roof, alone, with Sephiroth.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the monument. Around him, the rush of traffic and the press of pedestrians flowed like water. A prickle of awareness tickled at the back of his neck, and he glanced sideways as he saw a shadow fall next to his.

For just a moment, Cloud tried to work that into some appropriately heavy-handed metaphor. In the end, he just said, “Hey,” because he was, once again, startled by the sight of Sephiroth in unexpected clothing.

This time it was civilian clothes, jeans and a plain black shirt. Cloud had liked the SOLDIER First Class uniform, because that was the Sephiroth he’d come to know in Healin. The coat and the thigh-high boots were the Sephiroth he came to know at the end of a blade.

This one, dressed like anyone else in a crowd, would take some getting used to. “Where’d you get that outfit?”

“Rufus. He apparently doesn’t want me out in public dressed like a soldier. It doesn’t quite fit the image of his new, kindler Shinra.”

Cloud’s eyes went to Sephiroth’s back, where his blade was missing. He squinted, and while he couldn’t necessarily _see_ the magic concealing it, the edges of it were there, shimmering like a caught sunbeam. A conceal spell.

“Is that Rufus wanted to talk to you about? How you dressed to go outside?”

Sephiroth stared up at the sky for a moment. Cloud wondered if he was taken aback at the ability to see the sky. “Among other things. He also wanted me to inform you that I’m your problem now. If I cause a _ruckus_ and you fail to stop me, you’ll be his convenient scapegoat while he finds someone who can.”

“Sounds like Rufus,” Cloud agreed. “Did he really say _ruckus_?”

Sephiroth nodded. “Yes. And he wanted me to tell you that he’s paid you quite a bit of money for your time.”

“He better,” Cloud muttered, raking a hand through his hair. He squinted in the bright sunlight. There’d been more trees in Healin, diffusing the light better than the reflective surfaces of the buildings and the flat concrete streets. “On a scale of one to ten, ten being meteor and one being you telling Zack he couldn’t make a jacket out that dragon skin back in Nibelheim, how badly did you threaten him?”

Sephiroth thought about it. “I’m not sure I’m the best one to rate that.”

“Sephiroth.”

Sephiroth sighed, glancing at him. The sun shone off his silver hair, still in a ponytail and framing his face. His lashes were thick and dark, his skin preternaturally pale. Even in clothes a regular man would wear, he was nothing of the sort.

He was beautiful. He was deadly. And he was aimless, which meant he was dangerous.

“I told him not to interfere where he wasn’t wanted.”

“Hmm.” Cloud waited. “And your metaphor?”

Sephiroth’s mouth tightened. Nothing made him look human more than irritation, which Cloud figured was probably a good thing. “I said my blade remembered his family’s blood, and if he didn’t stay away, his could join his father’s.”

“Oh,” Cloud said. He thought about that. “That one wasn’t bad.”

Sephiroth gave him a very formal, elegant and slow bow. Complete with a sweeping arm gesture. “I am pleased beyond words that you approve, Cloud.”

Cloud smiled despite himself. “Yeah, great. Glad to hear it. What did you think of that information about your father…fathers?” He still wasn’t quite sure about that.

“I’m still convinced that Hojo fathered me, and my mother – for some reason – made certain I was carrying Vincent’s DNA as well.”

“Yeah, but _why_?”

Sephiroth stared up at the sky. If the light bothered him, he didn’t show it. “I have no idea. I suppose the only one who can answer that is Lucrecia.”

Cloud nodded, stepping neatly to the side when a small child nearly barreled into him. “Are you gonna tell Vincent?”

“I will tell him what I found out, yes,” Sephiroth said. “It doesn’t matter, though, does it? Hojo was married to Lucrecia. I have Hojo’s DNA and he raised me from childhood, so I suppose technically that makes him my father.”

Cloud was just about to ask another question when he saw a dark-haired blur heading right toward them – and unlike the small child, there’d be no side-stepping. Cloud barely had a chance to shout something in warning before said dark-haired blur went hurtling into Sephiroth, fists flying and aiming for kidneys and other delicate areas.

“Tifa! No, hey – Tifa, it’s fine, stop!”

He had a sudden and horrible image of his best friend lying dead, slain by his boyfriend’s seven-foot sword on a monument dedicated to said boyfriend’s defeat. But Sephiroth didn’t go for his sword, he simply defended himself while Cloud rushed to pull her off.

Cloud got an arm wrapped around her waist…and then he got a fist to the gut.

“Don’t think you’re not next, Strife.” Tifa snapped, dark eyes narrowed.

“Tifa,” he grit out, in between clenched teeth, “Can we do this somewhere else?”

“Sure. Let’s see how long it takes to get to the Northern Crater, hmm? Or, Sector Seven? Or, hey, I know! Let’s go to Nibelheim! Oh, but we can’t, can we? Because it’s not there! _This fucking monster burned it down._ ” Tifa whirled in a rage, facing Sephiroth.

Well, there was the whole thing where Shinra rebuilt it and staffed it with actors, but Cloud didn’t remind her of that. He had a feeling she wasn’t in the mood to be corrected.

“Go somewhere,” Cloud said, and tossed Sephiroth the keys to Fenrir. “Don’t wreck my motorcycle.”

“Die in a fire, you piece of shit asshole,” Tifa snarled.

“Ms. Lockheart,” said Sephiroth, nodding politely, as if this were a normal introduction. He glanced at Cloud. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Cloud just gave a brief nod in response, because what was he supposed to say? Of course he wasn’t all right.

Tifa whirled toward him, hands on her hips. Her eyes were very wide.

“What?”

 “Seventh Heaven. Both of you. _Now._ ” She pointed at Sephiroth. “Fancy sword or not, you monster, I will end you six ways to Sunday if you don’t behave.”

“Duly noted,” Sephiroth said. He held up the keys and, without a word, tossed them back to Cloud.

“Tifa –”

“I need – a little while to myself. I’ll meet you back at the bar. Eventually.” She didn’t even look back as she took off. Cloud knew how much it cost her to walk away.

***

Cloud used his keys to open the door to the bar, since they’d gotten back before Tifa. He was trying not to think about the ride there, with Sephiroth behind him, arms around his waist as they’d traversed the streets of Edge.

At this point it was stupid to try and admit he didn’t like how it felt to be close to Sephiroth in moments when they weren’t trying to kill each other. The guilt he felt was sharper than usual, and he knew it was because of Tifa’s reaction. Was it worth losing everyone he cared about, everyone who’d fought beside him, just to keep him?

Tifa must have been in the middle of getting ready to open when she saw the report about Sephiroth. The television was on, and while the sound was muted, Cloud could see news scrolling across the bottom of the news program.

_Former SOLDIER First Class Sephiroth Found Alive, Lost Memories After Reactor Explosion, Says Shinra…._

Sephiroth appeared completely disinterested in the sight of himself on television – along with the footage from the press conference, they were showing old propaganda films of him as a SOLDIER during the Wutai War.

Cloud remembered watching that footage as a kid in Nibelheim, wanting to grow up and be a SOLDIER like Sephiroth so that the townspeople would accept him.

“She’s mad.” It was probably a gross understatement, but Cloud wasn’t exactly the most articulate when it came to feelings – his own, or other people’s.

“Hmm.” Sephiroth sat on a barstool, studying him. He hadn’t gone for his sword or even fought back when Tifa attacked him, and he didn’t look like he was suffering a resurgence of his _dark tides_ or whatever he called it. He looked completely foreign in the civilian clothes, but also surprisingly…normal. Benign, almost.

Which was a lie, and a potentially dangerous one, at that. “You know the second you hurt someone, we have a problem. You know that, right.”

Sephiroth tilted his head. “She did attack me first.”

“You started it back in Nibelheim,” Cloud reminded him. He went behind the bar and started washing glasses to recover his equilibrium. There were always glasses to wash at a bar, even if it wasn’t open yet, and having something to do helped him think.

To his surprise, Sephiroth joined him and started drying the freshly-washed glasses. It reminded Cloud just a little of their time in Healin, and he breathed out, slowly, before speaking. “Tifa probably went to see Aerith. To Aerith’s church, I mean. She does that when she’s mad.”

Sephiroth placed the glass he’d dried on the shelf with the others. Cloud watched him neatly align all the glasses so they were straight on the shelf as if he couldn’t quite help himself. Probably the thing that would lead to their final epic battle would be how completely at odds their housekeeping styles were.

Tifa walked in and took in the sight of the two of them, working behind her bar. Her mouth tightened, but she took a seat at one of the stools. “I’m supposed to listen,” she said grimly. “So talk.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Cloud looked down at the glass in his hand. Somehow the idea of apologizing for falling inlove with Sephiroth – with Sephiroth standing _right there_ \-- seemed insulting, but what else could he do?

“The truth, maybe?”

Footage from the day’s press conference was playing on the television. He saw Sephiroth standing next to Rufus in his former uniform, and was momentarily dizzy at the idea of how many Sephiroths there were, and how many were in this room – physically or metaphorically – right now. Tifa knew the monster, the world knew the SOLDIER, and Cloud knew both of those better than anyone else. But he also knew the man in jeans who was surreptitiously arranging all the glassware by type.

“We’re…working on it.”

Tifa rolled her eyes at Cloud’s admittedly terrible explanation. “The only reason I didn’t beat his head in out by the monument is that he actually seemed like he cared if you were okay. Elena has told me a thousand times that he wasn’t lying when he first showed up and that he didn’t remember who he was or what he’d done, but then somehow he _did_ and I’m just not sure why he’s standing in my bar because I can’t –” she broke off, looking mad again.

“You can ask him,” Cloud said. “He is right here.”

Tifa shifted her attention and studied Sephiroth for a long time. “You look – it’s weird to see you like that. Like you’re a normal person who isn’t a crazy monster.”

“The uniform didn’t make me crazy,” said Sephiroth.

At the sound of his voice, Tifa’s whole body went tense. Images of broken glass and overturned tables danced in his head, but what could he do?

“So you admit you’re crazy.”

“I think it would be entirely pointless to pretend the things I did were sane,” Sephiroth said calmly.

“Hojo implanted a trigger in his brain to destroy Nibelheim,” Cloud pointed out, aware he sounded like he was making excuses for Sephiroth but he figured Tifa deserved to know why their town was destroyed. He gave a quick explanation, to which Tifa listened without a change in expression.

Until he got to the part about how Hojo wanted to use Sephiroth’s DNA and Jenova’s cells to impregnate Aerith.

“That son of a bitch,” she swore softly. “Poor Aerith.” Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Sephiroth again. “Of course you really didn’t have to kill her. Though I guess you’ll get out of that one by saying you were just doing Jenova’s will or whatever, right?”

“I _was_ doing Jenova’s will, but I’m not trying to get out of anything,” Sephiroth said. “I’m not entirely sure what you want from me, Ms. Lockheart, but it’s not my intention to make you like me. I’m here because of Cloud, and I think we both know that.”

“I don’t think you can ever give me what I want,” Tifa said. “Unless you can go back and change the past.” She narrowed her eyes at him, fingers drumming on the bar. “Would you? If you could?”

Sephiroth regarded her thoughtfully. “I find questions like this difficult to answer. Hypothetical ones, that is.”

“But you didn’t find it difficult to believe your mom was an alien and you were a god?”

Sephiroth did wince a bit at that. “I was admittedly unbalanced, but that doesn’t change the fact I saw it as a future possibility and acted accordingly to what I believe to be true.”

“Even though it was nuts,” Tifa said bluntly.

“Apparently,” said Sephiroth.

“Aerith…I went to her church. And I railed and ranted, but her answer about what I should do was pretty clear. I was supposed to listen, she said. I was supposed to trust Cloud.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m doing the first one, but I can’t promise the second. You are literally sleeping with the enemy.”

“So are you,” Cloud snapped, before he could think better of it.

Predictably, that made her angry. She hopped up off the barstool and pointed a finger at him, eyes narrowing and face flushed. “Don’t you _dare_. Yeah, Elena’s a Turk, but she didn’t try and _end the world._ She didn’t kill my friend, she didn’t _kill my family_ and burn down my town.”

“But Shinra almost did end the world, in their own way,” Cloud pointed out. “You’re giving Rufus Shinra the benefit of the doubt and trusting this new Shinra Power Company isn’t the old one. Shinra did more damage than Sephiroth.”

“Cloud, you can’t honestly think it’s the same thing.”

“No, because I don’t trust Shinra at all.” Cloud put his hands on the counter, slick with water, and was disappointed they’d washed all the glasses. He was half tempted to just start pulling others off the shelf just for something to do.

“And you trust _him_?” she demanded, jutting her chin over at Sephiroth.

“Yeah.” Cloud shrugged. “I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I do.”

Her eyes flickered to Sephiroth again. “Can you give us a minute, or will you try and destroy the world if you’re on your own for more than an hour without Cloud to stop you?”

Sephiroth’s mouth tightened, his brows drawing down for a moment. “I assure you, Midgar is safe enough from me.”

“Edge,” Cloud corrected, absently. “You want the keys to the bike?”

“No. As it happens, I have somewhere to go.” Sephiroth moved from behind the bar and paused in front of Tifa. “I have no interest in ruling the world or destroying the planet. I’m not entirely without the destructive urges I felt before, but the idea of being anyone’s puppet, vessel or weapon ever again is unacceptable. If you can’t trust anything else, perhaps you can trust that. Cloud knows what he’s supposed to do if I begin to exhibit symptoms of would-be godhood or intentions toward world domination.” Sephiroth cut his gaze to Cloud. “I trust he’ll keep his promise this time and send me to the Lifestream for good.”

 “This time?” Tifa asked, tilting her head. “When did he not try and do that? Seems like he does and it just never works.”

“It would, now,” Sephiroth said.

“Why?” Tifa asked, her voice sharp. “Why would it work now when it never did before?”

Sephiroth paused for a moment before speaking. “All I used to feel for Cloud was hate. That hate, and the force of my will, kept me from becoming one with the Lifestream.”

“Okay. So?” Tifa, practical as she was, had little use for metaphysics. Cloud knew that about her, if nothing else.

“What I feel for Cloud,” Sephiroth said, so stiffly he sounded like a robot again, “is stronger than hate.”

Tifa didn’t necessarily look like she believed that, but it wasn’t as if Cloud could blame her. She marched over to Sephiroth and looked up at him, determined and utterly without fear. “We’ll all kill you if he can’t. I don’t care if you love him and he loves you. If you need to go back to the Lifestream, I’ll send you there myself. Got it?”

Sephiroth inclined his head briefly. “I never assumed otherwise. Cloud?”

“I’ll find you,” Cloud said. He didn’t just mean when he was finished talking to Tifa, either.  

“I don’t doubt it,” Sephiroth said, softly. It was less menacing arch-nemesis and more _challenge accepted,_ and it made Cloud flush despite himself. Their eyes caught and held, and then Sephiroth turned on his heel, elegant and graceful as ever, and left the bar.

There were a few seconds of quiet after the door closed. Then, predictably, Tifa started talking.

“You don’t think this is a trap? That he’s not manipulating you, or – mind controlling you?”

“I don’t think it’s a trap, and he’s not mind-controlling me.”

“Then explain it,” Tifa demanded, and her voice sounded choked with either anger or tears. “Explain how you could let him touch you, how you could – how you could want to be with someone like him. You saw him kill Aerith!”

Cloud didn’t know what to say. “Because I’m _tired_ , Tifa. I’m tired of battling him and trying to make him go away when it’s clear that for whatever reason, he never will. We’re joined in some way I can’t explain. But all we’ve ever done is fight it, and look what’s happened. So now we’re…not fighting it.”

“That’s some kind of psychological state in which you fall in love with your kidnapper,” Tifa snapped. “I don’t know what that’s called, Mideel Syndrome or something, I read about it once. It’s unhealthy, though. I know that much.”

“I’m not the person everyone wants to think I am,” Cloud said softly, at a loss for how to explain. “I’m not this selfless hero who wants to pick up a sword every time the planet’s under a threat.”

“Well, no one really wants to do that,” Tifa said with a shrug. “But you did it because you’re a good person, Cloud. We did the right thing, and that’s not always easy.”

“It’s never easy,” Cloud corrected. “And I know that, Tifa. But that doesn’t mean I’m not tired.”

“Is he all you think you deserve, Cloud?” Tifa’s voice was choked. “Is this some form of punishment?”

That might have been true, maybe at one time, but Cloud shook his head. “No. He got his memories back and handed me his sword and told me to kill him. I forgave him instead and it…a lot of the guilt I’ve been carrying, it helped get rid of it. When I did that.”

“Then how are you so sure you’re not doing this to be a martyr and save the world? Because I thought you said you were tired of that,” Tifa argued.

“Maybe what I’m tired of isn’t doing something good for the planet and the people I care about. Maybe it’s that I’m tired of always having to do it at the end of a blade.” He was definitely spending too much time around Sephiroth, to come up with that one. But it didn’t make it any less true.

“Gods, Cloud, of course I understand that you’re tired of fighting. But why do you have to be with him? Can’t you just let him go?”

Cloud stared at her. “Has that ever worked, before?”

“You’ve never tried it without fighting, so how do you know it wouldn’t?” She tilted her chin up at him. “Because I think the problem is that he wouldn’t let you go, and that’s not…that’s not love, that’s just a different kind of obsession.”

Cloud closed his eyes for a moment, seeing Sephiroth on top of the Shinra building and hearing that voice say _I’ll never be a memory_. Maybe at the time he hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he knew it was the truth. He’d always known. “I don’t know if it would work because I...I don’t think I could let him go, either.”

“Because you’d worry he’d try something horrible and destructive, right?”

There was part of Cloud that was always going to worry about that, just like there was part of Sephiroth that was always going to want to _do_ something horrible and destructive. “We balance each other,” he said. “And before, it’s always been with swords and fights to the death. It doesn’t have to be that way, and now it isn’t.”

“This still doesn’t sound like you have much of a choice, Cloud,” she said.

“It would if you’d been where I was before. Tifa, I know it doesn’t make sense, but there’s…something there. It’s been there since the beginning, and I want the chance to see if I can have this. For myself. Maybe that’s selfish, but I can’t help it.” That was the part he found it hardest to admit. The part where he didn’t want to let Sephiroth go, for the simple fact that Cloud wanted him.

She nodded. “Gods know I want you to be happy, Cloud. I just…that it’s him, that you’re saying there’s this cosmic destiny that draws you together and you’re settling for it being less destructive than it has been…”

All of a sudden, her lips twitched. “That’s literally the most Cloud Strife thing I’ve ever heard, as much as it makes me want to scream and hit you in the face with a bottle.”

Cloud glared at her, but he could feel himself blush a little and honestly, he probably couldn’t argue with that.

 “Look me in the eye and tell me that you love him, and you want to be with him.”

Cloud really wanted to be done with this conversation. At this point, he’d rather go talk to Rufus Shinra again. “I love him and I want to be with him.”

Her stare was heavy, weighted, and for a moment he felt like he did in sky above the fallen Shinra Tower; tied down by a thousand strings to people he couldn’t see, promises he couldn’t break and the world relying on the strength of his blade and the quickness of his mind. Seeing Sephiroth’s perfect face, his own fallen angel back to battle for the world Cloud couldn’t stop trying to save.

Gods. Maybe he really did have more of a martyr complex than he wanted to admit. But there was more to it than that, and Cloud had to trust in that even if he knew no one else could see it but him.

“How did you do it?” Tifa whispered. “Cloud, how were you able forgive him?”

“Because hating him for what he did…it just makes him the monster capable of doing those things in the first place.” Cloud searched for a way to explain it. “And like I said. I was tired of fighting. And while he was there, when he didn’t remember doing all those things, I saw the person he would have been. Part of him still _is_ that person. He’s the man who gave me lectures about recycling, built a gazebo and taught me to play chess. He’s a vegetarian and he hates Black Chocobos and I’ve never seen him eat processed sugar, not one single time. He was in love once before, too.”

Cloud realized Tifa was staring at him and he stopped talking. He felt exposed and awkward, but having this conversation with her…it felt good. Or it would, once he got over the exposed and awkward thing.

“I think you just have a hard-on for danger,” she muttered.

Cloud smiled despite himself. “That’s what Sephiroth said when he realized I had a thing for Vincent and Rufus.”

“Oh my God, why didn’t you hook up with Vincent!” She threw her hands up in the air. “We could have saved ourselves this entire horrible situation and this conversation if you’d just done that.”

“Uh, because he married Yuffie, remember? And unlike my boyfriend and Vincent, I’m not really sure I’m cut out for threesomes.”

“You just called him your boyfriend. I can’t even. I used to wonder if maybe you and Rufus _would_ hook up, and I remember thinking that’d be awful because….well, he’s Rufus. But instead, you had to start dating your arch-nemesis.” She shook her head. “Why are you like this? Why couldn’t we have just been in love, me and you?”

“Because we have the same type,” Cloud pointed out. “I’m betting Elena beats you at chess and you think it’s hot she carries a gun and knows how to use it.”

Tifa made a face and hit him on the shoulder. “She wins every goddamn time we play and yeah, fine, the gun is hot. But we still have disagreements about what she does and who she does it for. Though I guess I…sort of understand about wanting to forgive the past. I want to believe she’s working for a company that’s learned its lesson. Just like I want to believe you’re in love with a man who has learned his, but I’m having trouble and I’m not sure when that will change.”

It was more than he expected from her, and that made him feel a bit bad, like maybe he should have given her more credit if he were willing to, say, give it to Sephiroth. “I’m not asking you to do anything. I just wanted you to know.”

“Thanks for not leaving a note,” she said, her voice dangerous. “Oh, wait. Except for how you did that when you ran off to Healin. Jerk.”

“Not my finest moment,” Cloud agreed. “I’ll find somewhere for us to live. Rufus paid me a pretty good amount for the last few months, so money shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I would let you stay here, but I just…can’t. Not yet.”

“I know, Tifa. I understand. I do.”

She played with the frayed edges of the bar towel, staring down at it for a moment. “Is Vincent really his father?”

Cloud didn’t know how to explain it, so he shrugged. “It’s complicated. I don’t feel right saying anything about it.” He was somewhat surprised that she knew Sephiroth’s parentage was even in question. He wondered if Elena had told her.

Tifa answered his unspoken question. “Vincent brought Yuffie with him when he came to meet with Sephiroth. Well, more like, Yuffie wouldn’t let him out of the house without her. He left Yuffie here, so he told us about the paternity test when he got back.”

Cloud could only imagine how Yuffie felt about that. “I’m guessing it didn’t go over well.”

“Well. Yuffie hates Shinra, that’s true, but she did have something interesting to say. She said that we all thought Sephiroth was some kind of hero when he was burning her country to the ground. The second he did it here, we started calling him a monster. I know it’s a matter of perception, but she did have a point.”

That she did. The Wutai War was fought mostly through propaganda, but they’d all bought into it. People knew better, now, but that didn’t erase all the atrocities Shinra had committed in its search for mako.

“I guess the only way the planet moves on, is if we do,” Cloud said. “Maybe we’re all supposed to stop fighting. Shinra. Me and Sephiroth.”

“Maybe we are,” Tifa agreed. She came around and hugged Cloud. “I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive him or be okay with this, or even stop worrying that it’s a trap. But I’ll…try. For you.”

“Thank you.” Cloud hugged her back. It wasn’t something they did, often, but he was glad to have the chance. Especially since this might have gone so much worse.

“Aerith would forgive him, wouldn’t she,” Tifa said, her voice muffled against his chest.

“She forgave him before he even did it.” Cloud remembered Aerith kneeling on the altar, the peaceful look on her face as death descended from above.

Tifa pulled away and wrapped her arms around herself. “I think you’re right, about moving forward. I do. But if you need my help to send him back to the Lifestream, I’ll be there. Then Aerith can deal with him, herself.” She raised her voice a bit at the end.

“Deal,” said Cloud. “Thank you. I know this isn’t…uh. Easy. Or. Um. Ideal.”

“I think you’ve used up your words for the day,” Tifa said, but her smile was kind. “Go find your boyfriend, would you? The longer he’s alone out there, the more likely it is we’ll have to build another monument.”

Cloud scowled. “That’s not funny.”

“Who said I was joking?” Tifa waved a hand. “Let me know when you find a place, okay? You’re not using this as an excuse to vanish, Cloud. We won’t let you.”

Cloud nodded, once, and headed out into the bright sunlight. He didn’t think Sephiroth was causing mayhem – in fact, he was pretty sure it was the opposite. Or maybe he just hoped it was true.

Either way, he knew where to go.

 


	22. lady of the flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Am I dead?” Sephiroth asked, in lieu of an answer. _Ask for a sit-rep. Always the first step._
> 
> Aerith tilted her head. “Why do you think that? Because I’m here?” 
> 
> He gestured toward the church, the strange quiet and the unreal color of the flowers that seemed, suddenly, to be everywhere. “No. Because _I_ am.” 
> 
> Or: In which the end is reached, and the beginning begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been waiting all this time to use this song as a chapter title :|

Sephiroth left Seventh Heaven, uncertain for a moment if he should stay close by until he remembered that Cloud could more than take care of himself. That was good; he was not used to worrying about the safety of another person, and it was already enough of a mental minefield that he was actively trying to keep Cloud _safe_ instead of killing him painfully and slowly.

Shaking off his thoughts, Sephiroth headed toward the ruins of the old Shinra Tower. It’d been mostly cleared away to make way for new structures, but he could easily imagine what it had looked like before; an icon to greed and corporate narcissism, a glowing obelisk rising from a city of gloomy dark.

Sephiroth considered manifesting his wing and flying up to the top, but it would serve no purpose. Perhaps he would think about fighting Cloud, perhaps he would think about the years of his life spent under Shinra’s thumb and tethered to their leash. Either way, it wasn’t likely to improve his mood or lead to any particularly good decisions on his part.

The past was in ruins, literally and figuratively, and he could fly over them like some forgotten angel of doom, or move on to whatever was next.

He’d already made his choice the moment he’d handed Cloud his masamune back in Healin. He’d thought what waited for him was death and the accompanying forgetfulness that had at some point seemed blissful. It turned out that wasn’t to be, and he was still too much a soldier not to forge ahead.

He walked seemingly without destination, and his enhanced senses could pick up the whispers from other pedestrians.

_Is that really him?_

_Yeah, look at the hair, remember those posters?_

_I thought my mom made him up._

_….disgraceful what Shinra did in Wutai, just terrible._

That was the most common sentiment he was catching from other people who thought he couldn’t hear them muttering. Public perception of Shinra might be moderately positive nowadays, but that was Rufus Shinra’s new, planet-friendly Shrina.

Public perception was not as kind to Sephiroth’s Shinra, though it made his blood cold to think of it that way. Rufus was smart to pardon him and still present him as part of the old-guard, distancing neo-Shinra even further from the company that had come before.

No one approached him, which wasn’t much different than before. Despite his fearsome reputation and the persona Shinra was so eager to cultivate for him, Sephiroth never had spent much time in Midgar outside of the Tower. Having him wandering around the city in civilian clothes wasn’t part of their plan. He only ever did it with Angeal and Genesis, and it was rare.

Sephiroth stopped when he got to the church, which he could admit to himself was where he’d been heading all along. He stood quietly in the street and looked at the building, wondering if he’d ever been here before. It was the old sector five, though the church was the only thing that looked even remotely familiar.

A gentle breeze stirred his neck, bared thanks to his hair being in a ponytail. Sephiroth paid his five gil entrance fee from the money Rufus had given him, ignored the stammer of the young man who took his money and went inside.

The first thing he saw was the sword.

Sephiroth stood in the dim church as rage suffused him, and for a moment he was back there in Nibelheim with his hand pressed to a tank and longing coursing like mako through his veins. In the end, it had been every bit as much a poison.

“’Scuse me, sir.”

Something tugged at his shirt. Sephiroth, who was trembling with the strongest desire to _destroy_ that he’d felt since realizing his memories were back, glanced down at the small child standing next to him. He knew his eyes were glowing and the slits were dilated; by all rights, the child should scream and run away from him.

Instead, she gazed solemnly up at him and held up a flower. “D’you want one?”

Sephiroth blinked at her. He struggled to think past the anger and the pain of rejection, the alienation he’d felt in Nibelheim, the way it felt when that sword pierced him and sent him flying into an electric panel and down into a reactor core. He wanted to reduce this church to rubble, holy place or not.

 The little girl did not resemble the Cetra in the slightest, but the flower she was holding – it looked exactly like the one in his dream, the one that grew from the mud and talked to him.

Sephiroth didn’t trust himself to speak, but he nodded and reached in his pocket to find some gil. He ignored the fine tremor in his fingers and controlled himself with effort.

The little girl shook her head no and pressed the flower into his hand. “No s’okay, am s’posed to just give it to you. Your hair is pretty.” With a shy smile, she darted away and ran outside.

Sephiroth noticed then that he was the only one in the church. The sunlight streaming through reflected off the blade of the Buster Sword, which was faintly rusted from exposure to the elements. He moved easily over to the platform and sat down cross-legged beside the blade that had been his ruin, holding the flower in his hand.

The rage he’d felt dissipated, and it left him feeling hollow; empty in a way he remembered from just before Nibelheim, thinking he was going to leave Shinra and knowing that somehow, no matter how much he wanted them to, they would never let him go.

His desperation at Nibelheim to find someone else to be, some other master to serve, seemed meaningless now. It was hard to remember the fire of his inner certainty, the bright light of madness that shone like a beacon and promised to lead him out of the dark.

“Hi.”

Sephiroth glanced up. Standing in front of him was the Cetra. Not as a flower or a memory but a real person; hair that oddly reminded him of his own framing a youthful face, a sweet smile, her hands clasped in front of her. She was dressed in the same thing she’d worn the day he’d driven a sword through her heart and laughed in triumph while she died.

He met her eyes with his own, but he still couldn’t say her name.

“Can I sit down?”

Sephiroth glanced around the church. The noise from outside, traffic and horns and people, had faded. The interior of the church was quiet and still, the late-afternoon sun shining off the Buster Sword and the pool of water surrounding it. The flowers looked very bright, almost too yellow.

“Am I dead?” Sephiroth asked, in lieu of an answer. _Ask for a s_ _it-rep. Always the first step._  

Aerith tilted her head. “Why do you think that? Because I’m here?”

He gestured toward the church, the strange quiet and the unreal color of the flowers that seemed, suddenly, to be everywhere. “No. Because _I_ am.”

She didn’t answer, but repeated, “May I sit down?”

It would be fitting, somehow, if in accepting that he had come here to apologize to her for ending her life, she would take him back to the Lifestream. It had been her, after all, that pulled him out of it and made it possible for him to return.

He scooted over. There was no sense in fighting the inevitable. He had taken her life in her prime – she was within her rights to take his, too. She did not cower on the sacrificial altar. Neither would he.

“You’re very dramatic.” She settled on the ground next to him and look around, still smiling. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? I’m so glad people still come here. You’re not dead, Sephiroth. Far from it, actually.”

Her voice was sweet. He remembered taking her to the Forgotten City, how he’d ranted about the Cetra and how she was too pure for this planet and her death would not be in vain, that she would join the Lifestream and he would avenge their people’s demise. Jenova’s words, maybe; but his own certainty to be _right_ had edged them like the blade he’d driven into her heart.

She’d never begged or asked him not to kill her. She’d barely spoken to him, as he could recall, and spent most of her time in silent prayer. He frowned, as memories from before his return began to clarify and sharpen in his head. “It was you. You’re the one who brought me out of the Lifestream.”

“Yes. You and your hate was turning it dark,” she said. She pointed to the water. “See?”

He glanced down and recoiled at his own reflection before he could help himself. His eyes and mouth were nothing but dark holes, similar to his earlier nightmare of Angeal and Genesis. Black tendrils were curled around him like vines, twisting through his hair and his wrists, and they seemed to grow from the circles that were his eyes and mouth, from the hole in the center of his chest where his heart should be.

Sephiroth held up an arm and looked at himself. To his own eyes, he looked the same. “Is that how you see me?”

“Not anymore.” She nodded back at the water. “Look.”

He looked again, and the reflection had changed. There were still a few inky tendrils clinging here and there, mostly up by his head. The one stretching from the center of his chest was gone, and his eyes and mouth were completely normal. He reached up and watched himself touch what looked like a thin wisp of dark smoke in his reflected image, though all he felt was his hair.

“Things are better now,” she said, in her sweet voice. She was as lovely as she’d been in life, with that same agelessness about her that Sephiroth found vaguely disconcerting.

 _She is what you thought you were, once._ How strange to think he’d believed that.

“You and I…we made a deal,” he said, slowly. “I wanted to go back into nothing, and you wanted me to live. Why? Was it punishment for what I did to you?”

“No, but I can see that you might think of it that way.” She smiled at him. The depth of her eyes seemed vast. Her power was, and always had been, so much greater than his. “It was repentance. A chance to atone.”

“Why?” He found he had to look away from her eyes; whatever it was he was seeing in them made him dizzy. “I sought to end the Planet, why wouldn’t it do the same to me?”

“A mother wants her child to learn from their mistakes. You cannot do that if you don’t remember what they were.” Aerith drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them. “Zack says hi. He wants to come see you.”

To lecture him, no doubt. Sephiroth stared at the flower, then back at his own reflection. The dark tendrils were still there, and he brushed at them again though of course it did nothing to dispel them.

Then he looked at her reflection, and saw what he might have been.

Light poured from her eyes, her mouth, her heart. Warm light, everything he’d wanted when he’d sought out Jenova but didn’t understand why it was wrong. Jenova was a Calamity who wanted to use him, burn him up into a husk like he’d nearly done to the Planet in her name.

“The Planet thought that maybe, if you knew what love was, you would repent. You would have a chance to live in light and not pollute the Lifestream with darkness.”

She’d told him that, before. So had Genesis, in his dream.

_We are expected to know love when we feel it, but how can we if we don’t know what it is?_

“You sent me back without my memories to learn, and the trigger…” he closed his eyes, pulling hard at the threads of disconnected memory. “That was the test.”

“Oh, yes, well.” She laughed, and the sound fell gently around him, warm like rain. “The Planet had its own lessons for Cloud. But yes. We made a deal, you and I. If you were incapable of atonement, Cloud would have killed you. Then you would have gotten what you wanted, and I think it would have worked.”

“But Cloud didn’t kill me, and I’m…I can feel the dark part of me. It isn’t gone.” He glanced over at her. It felt important somehow, to tell her that. It might not control him but it was still _there._

“No. But as I told Cloud, it’s like poison. It takes a long time to get it out of your system. And it changes you sometimes.” She studied him carefully with her endless eyes. “It might never go away, but that’s the thing, Sephiroth. You did many things out of hate and fear, and some of them, they weren’t your choice. But the Planet has given you a second chance. That doesn’t mean your sins are forgiven by those you have hurt; it doesn’t erase your past. You knew what it was like to be hated, feared, used, thrown away. You didn’t know what it was like to be loved, wanted, admired for something other than your ability to kill. Now you do.”

“It seems a bit trite,” he said. “Don’t you think?”

She grinned at him again, and inclined her head. “Maybe. But the Planet gives us the lessons we need, so maybe that should tell you something. Now that you know something of the light, do you still choose to be one with the dark?”

“Am I supposed to answer out loud?” he asked. “Does the Planet wish me to make this choice right now, as some kind of vow?”

“You’ve already chosen,” she said sweetly. “In a thousand small ways, you’ve chosen. And it is not a vow, it is just life, and living in it. Every day, Sephiroth, you will have to choose. You will carry your darkness inside of you and you will choose to not be the man you were. You will fight it and it will not be easy, but you have proven now that you can win.”

Sephiroth never expected anything to be easy. That went double for a prolonged battle with the complexities of his inner nature. “I’m not entirely sure why I deserved this consideration in the first place, given what I’ve done.”

“I know you don’t, and that’s part of the problem. Maybe one day you will. Your life is as precious as anyone else’s.” She tilted her head. “But the fact remains. Regardless if you understand it or not, the choice is now yours when it wasn’t always, before.”

A nod to the fact that everything from his very existence to his training to his time as a Calamity’s weapon had been engineered. And what about the engineers? Would they get the same chance to repent as had he?

“And what of my father – whoever it was? My mother? Does everyone who seeks to destroy every living thing get this divine intervention?”

She reached out, very carefully, and smoothed his hair back from his face. He flinched but didn’t move away from the touch. “They do if they want it. And believe it or not, Sephiroth, you did want it. Something inside of you wanted to atone, even if you might never believe that.”

He wasn’t sure that he would, but maybe. He had sought out Jenova for some purpose, some reason to exist. “Speaking of my father. Why do I have two?”

“Two fathers, two mothers, and two paths to choose. You’ve seen what happens when you chose Jenova and Hojo.” She gestured vaguely. “Now see what happens, maybe, when you choose the others.”  

“Vincent is possessed by a demon and my mother is a crazy scientist with a responsibility problem,” Sephiroth reminded her. “These are not ideal choices, you realize.”

“Well,” Aerith said, with a shrug. She cleared her throat. “No one’s perfect.”

That was the truth.

“You will carry them all within you, like I said. Hojo’s ambition, Vincent’s darkness, Jenova’s power and Lucrecia’s irresponsibility. But you will have Hojo’s intelligence, Vincent’s loyalty, Jenova’s gifts and Lucrecia’s perseverance. Everything is a choice, Sephiroth. Choose who to be and let the others go.”

He nodded and fell quiet, thinking. After a few minutes he felt a chill next to him where the warmth of her presence had been, and he knew she was gone. The flowers still looked pretty, the light still lovely, but the otherworldliness of the place had faded.

Sephiroth looked between the flower in his hand and the sword in the ground by his side, and knew she was right. For better or worse, he’d already made his choice and now it was time to see it through.

There was one thing that he could do, though. He thought for a moment how best to say it and decided on simplicity, words stripped of his usual melodrama.

“I’m sorry that I took your life, Aerith,” he said quietly. “It was not mine to take.”

Sephiroth leaned down and placed the flower in the water. The current caught it and carried it away like an offering. Like a prayer.

***

Cloud found him in the alcove, standing by Zack’s sword.

“I want to say something to him,” Sephiroth said by way of greeting, after Cloud made his way to stand beside him. “Him and Angeal, both. But I don’t know what I could say that they’d want to hear.”

“Don’t ask me,” said Cloud. “I’m bad at talking and I’ve done way too much of it today.” He looked tired, and Sephiroth figured his conversation with Tifa had taken a lot of out him. But he was giving Sephiroth a considering look. “You look different.”

“The last time you said that, it was because my hair was in a ponytail.”

“Because it made you look human.” Cloud studied him. “Something happened, huh.”

Sephiroth sighed. He had every intention of telling Cloud – his conscience, his compass, his antagonist even if no longer his nemesis – but perhaps not here. “I had a…vision. Or a visit, I’m still not quite sure how it works. From Aerith.”

Cloud went still, and his gaze slipped away to the far-off smattering of flowers growing in the floor of the church. “It’s weird when you say her name.”

Sephiroth reached out a hand as if he were going to touch the sword, but he didn’t. “Not that I just told you I saw her, here?”

Cloud shrugged. “It’s her church. I’ve seen her here, too. She healed the Geostigma in the water.” He glanced at Sephiroth. “Her and Zack, I saw them in the door. Zack waved to me.”

The corner of Cloud’s mouth lifted in the smallest of smiles. “Actually he did this.” Cloud made a clawing gesture with his hand. “I don’t know if it was a wave or what. I have no idea what he meant, but I guess he’ll tell me whenever we see each other again.”

That seemed like Zack. It had probably been accompanied by some kind of sound effect. Sephiroth leaned back against the cool stone. “Do you want me to tell you what she said?”

Cloud’s fingers traced lightly over the hilt of the Buster Sword. “If you want. I mean, I already know she forgives you.”

Sephiroth tilted his head. “Are you? She didn’t mention that.”

“She probably figures you know, already.” Cloud glanced at him. “I was there when she died, remember? She’d forgiven you before it even happened. She’s not the type to carry a grudge, either.”

That seemed likely. Sephiroth thought about Zack, and Angeal. They had yet to speak to him in anything but nightmares, though perhaps they were not ready. He didn’t think it would take Zack long, though. He’d always been impatient.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Cloud’s voice was quiet and respectful.

 Sephiroth thought for moment and shook his head. “I don’t know what to say to either of them.”

“Maybe, dunno…that you’re sorry?”

Was he? He’d done what he could for Angeal, and he knew the apology his old friend and lover would want wouldn’t be about Angeal’s degeneration but about Sephiroth’s breakdown and subsequent attempts to destroy the world. That was still too complicated a tangle for him to consider unknotting, and his feelings about Shinra weren’t suited toward an apology.

Zack, though…

“I should have listened to you,” Sephiroth said, focusing his attention and will on the sword. He did touch it, this time, but lightly. “I should have asked for your help instead of losing myself by locking myself away in that mansion.”

It might not have mattered; Sephiroth might have killed Zack outright instead of attempting to disarm him. Sephiroth might have still gone crazy, even if he _had_ asked Zack for help instead of barricading himself in a library with bits and pieces of information that he’d crafted into an erroneous and misinformed whole.

But from what he knew of Zack Fair, Zack would have wanted Sephiroth to at least _try._

Nothing much happened, but Sephiroth felt a slight tingle from the sword which seemed, for a moment, to glow. Zack would prefer to speak in person rather than through pulses of significant light waves, Sephiroth was sure of it. He glanced at Cloud, indicating that he was finished with his communion.

Cloud cleared his throat, then patted the sword gently as if it were a Moog. “Uh. Bye, Zack.”

Sephiroth snorted.

“You’re the one who talks too much in this relationship,” Cloud pointed out. “Ready to go?”

“Mmm.” Sephiroth made his way back to the main part of the church. He glanced once at the flower he’d placed in the water, which had made its way downstream to the others. For a moment his vision went hazy, and he saw it for what it was – an altar. The air smelled sweet, fragrant.

Cloud vaulted over next to him, and he paused, looking toward the flower-altar. He must have noticed the sudden scent, too. He raised a hand in greetting. “Bye, Aerith. Uh. Thanks, I guess, for…y’know.” He scuffed his boot on the ground, which Sephiroth had never seen an actual person do in real life. He looked momentarily ten years younger than he was – all wide blue eyes and messy blond spikes, his face slightly tinged pink as if he were embarrassed. “I think Tifa’s just glad it wasn’t Rufus.”

Sephiroth had no idea what that meant, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask.

Cloud ran a hand through his hair and tugged for a moment on one of his spikes. “I’ll come back and visit soon.” He sounded like himself again; quiet, battle-tested and a little weary. Sephiroth preferred him that way, if he were being honest. Innocence and youth were two things he’d never really understood.

As they left the church, a soft sound followed them out – it might have been a soft laugh, it might have been a sigh. It might have just been the wind.

The scent of flowers was still there, though. It seemed, somehow, to be caught in his hair.

***

_He’s in Nibelheim, in the library._

_All the books have been replaced by pornography._

_Sephiroth flips through one – something where it should be physically impossible for the man featured on the page to walk without serious chafing – and waits for the sound of footsteps. When he hears them, he flips a page and says, “I should have known you’d be too impatient to wait for long.”_

_“Ugh, Seph. You are seriously ruining my mojo, man!” The voice is bright and friendly, and edged with just a hint of hyperactive eagerness. “You like my new library? Won’t drive you crazy but might drive you_ crazy, _know what I mean?”_

_“Your slogan needs work,” Sephiroth says, oddly reticent to turn around. He raises his eyebrows at the act depicted on the page. Zack apparently shares Cloud’s kink for thigh-high boots and long swords._

_“If you’re not ready to see me, I can come back,” Zack murmurs._

_“I’m surprised to hear that, Zack.” Sephiroth closes the book and runs his fingers over the spine. He’s wearing his uniform – the one Cloud thinks of as fetish gear, but the one Zack would of course associate most strongly with him – and the black leather of his glove looks dark against the light-blue spine of the book._

The Story of How Zack Is Awesome In The Afterlife And Sephiroth Stops Being Afraid To Turn Around _is printed in very small letters down the spine._

 _Sephiroth shakes his head, places the book next to one on the shelf that says_ I Totally Called You And Cloud Hooking Up Even When He Was Underaged And You Were Sad _and finally turns around._

_“Your titles could use some brevity,” he says._

_Zack is leaning against a bookshelf, arms crossed over his chest and ankles crossed. He looks so familiar it is hard to remember Sephiroth hasn’t seen him in almost a decade, regardless of how much of that time he spent asleep or insane. “Work in progress. You look a lot less crazy than the last time we were in here.”_

_Sephiroth glances away. “Yes.”_

_“Aw. Seph. Look, I know you were…let’s just say I get that I shouldn’t have tried to interfere with, y’know. My sword. But, like. That’s how I did stuff. I whacked it and hoped everything worked out.” Zack grins. “Hey, maybe I should use that for a title, hmm?”_

_Sephiroth snorts. “Mmm.”_

_“Anyway, that was my bad. So was telling Cloud to finish you off. That was…I kinda regret that. The word choice, I mean. It was very early-era, fighting video game of me.”_

_“It was what you were trained to do,” Sephiroth says. “To put down a threat. And he did. It wasn’t for lack of trying to kill me that I came back.”_

_“I know that, I literally just meant the word choice. Lame.” Zack’s mako-enhanced eyes are violet, and Sephiroth has forgotten how striking they are._

_“Aerith’s totally into them, too,” Zack says, and winks. “Your boyfriend, too. Before he was your boyfriend, obviously.”_

_“You are as exasperating in dreams as you were in life,” Sephiroth says. It’s incredibly tactless and he knows it. But it_ is _Zack.  “Speaking of Cloud…not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but he would like to see you. I’m surprised you’d seek me out first, given our…history.”_

_“Ugh, Aerith has all these rules.” Zack makes a face and puts his hands up in the air. “It’s like, oh, sure, I can talk to Cloud this one time because there’s a battle and he needs my help! Then I can talk to you whenever I feel like it, but I can’t just hang out with Cloud and talk about how funny it is he had the hots for me.”_

_Sephiroth is trying to make sense of this and failing. “These are Aerith’s rules?”_

_“Yeah, sorta. She’s like the anti-Shinra of the Afterlife. As in, she actually cares and has rules in place to make sure things don’t get – y’know.” Here, Zack makes a complicated set of hand gestures that means nothing to Sephiroth. “Fuck up,” he clarifies, when it’s clear Sephiroth does not understand._

_“What is it you wish to say to me?” Sephiroth asks._

_“I’m glad you said you were sorry to Aerith. I couldn’t – I was really mad at you for that, for a long time. Even though she kept telling me that she knew it was going to happen and that it was for the best and all that. And that you were possessed by Jenova. I was there in Nibelheim and like, I’m not trying to victim blame, here, Seph, but….”_

_“You knew I sought her out,” Sephiroth finishes. Zack understands that more than most everyone, even Cloud._

_“Yeah. I mean, I get it now. Hindsight and the wisdom of the Lifestream and all that.” At Sephiroth’s stare, Zack grins unabashedly. “And the Cetra girlfriend, fine.”_

_Suddenly, the bookshelves and wood paneling falls away and they are standing outside on a cliff. Beyond them, Midgar rises, a city of sharp uncompromising angles and muted lights made of stripped energy. A parasite slowly strangling the Planet._

_Sephiroth sees Zack lying on the ground in the rain, covered in blood. Cloud is kneeling over him, his face young and afraid, eyes wide and too-empty, blood smeared in his hair. Cloud’s innocence is always tempered by blood and death. No wonder Sephiroth prefers him otherwise._

_“I mean, it was like, the most perfect, sad, horrifying death ever, though, right?” Zack says, from beside him. He’s watching his final moments with something Sephiroth would swear is a fond smile. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Seph. I would’ve liked a bit more dignity but do you know how long I held out before they got me? Epic, man. Epic, I tell you.”_

_“It does not surprise me,” Sephiroth says. “You were always full of life. And tenacity.”_

_“Full of something, Angeal would say,” Zack agrees fondly. He looks at Sephiroth, as if waiting to hear something._

_“I would have liked us to be friends,” Sephiroth says, at length. The words feel torn out of him, like stones ripped from a quarry._

_“Seph.” Zack’s hand falls on his shoulder and squeezes. Even though Sephiroth knows this is a dream, he can still feel the strength of it. “We_ are _friends. We always were.”_

_The dream begins to fade, Midgar’s sharp edges blurring into oddly-lit shapes, like Sephiroth is looking at them through rain-slicked glass._

_“Hey, Seph,” Zack’s voice says, and it’s somehow tinny like it’s coming from a long way away and right there against his ear. Like a phone call. “You know why it’s hard to explain puns to kleptomaniacs?”_

_***_

Sephiroth’s eyes blinked open in the dark as he woke up. “Because they always take things literally.” His voice sounded vaguely triumphant, if not a little sleepy.  

“Um.” Cloud lifted his head from the pillow and gave him a confused and vaguely irritated stare. “You know that you talking to yourself in the middle of the night is on the checklist of ‘batshit crazy warning signs’, right?”

“I’m aware. Go back to sleep, Cloud.”

He’d never gotten one of Zack’s jokes, not even once. Maybe the fact that he did, this time, was on a different checklist. A good one.

He’d have to ask Cloud in the morning.

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand that's it! the end! well, no, there's an epilogue set six months or so post-chapter, which i'm working on as i hammer out some details of cloud and seph's life at that point. and one shots! i have many of one-shots planned. 
> 
> anyway i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying this fic, leaving kudos or comments or bookmarks or even if you're just reading it, really, i appreciate it so much. i'm hoping that the end has lived up to the beginning of the fic especially since i, uh, left it for three years at literally the worst cliffhanger EVAR. 
> 
> i hope i've managed to make a post-ACC Cloud/Sephiroth relationship work in a believable but hopeful way, while keeping Cloud a bamf and Seph just a little bit crazy, because that's how i love them best. <3


	23. Epilogue: Post Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six Months Later
> 
> According to Cloud Strife, "things aren't bad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a quick wrap-up so you know what Seph and Cloud are up to, what the plan is for the future and what's up with Vincent. 
> 
> Ahhh, I had so much fun writing this story! Thank you all so much for reading <3 And especially since it took me three years to finish it, lmao <33333
> 
> (Also I re-read this from the beginning and there are some inconsistencies that I have to fix lala ignore how i said there were no underground science labs in like ch. 2 okay >>)

Epilogue

_Six Months Later_

Cloud dragged himself in the house, wiping ineffectually at the water dripping down his face. He was soaked, from the tip of his not-so-spiky hair to the mud-splattered soles of his boots. He was also freezing, because while it was technically spring, apparently Kalm hadn’t gotten the memo.

Cloud didn’t want to complain, though. Because part of him worried the delay of spring warmth was somehow a little reminder from the Planet not to fuck with it again. A reminder aimed at Cloud’s boyfriend.

Cloud’s boyfriend, who was nice and dry, sitting at the kitchen table with Vincent Valentine.

“Cloud,” greeted Vincent, raising his mug.

Sephiroth’s greeting was a firm admonition to take his boots off, followed by a scowl. “Do you not own a raincoat, Cloud?”

Vincent coughed in a poor attempt to hide a laugh.

“Hi, Vincent.” Cloud didn’t bother responding to Sephiroth’s comment. He did, however, set about taking his boots off.

“You were on a delivery, Sephiroth said?” Vincent asked, sipping his tea.

They both looked so warm, it made Cloud shiver miserably just standing there struggling with his boots. “Uh-huh. To Junon. Weather’s not much better there, either. Or anywhere in between.” He nearly managed to get one boot off, then almost slipped in the puddle of water.

Sephiroth got up and walked over to the entranceway, where Cloud was dripping an ocean’s worth of water and mud on their floor. “Don’t,” he said, when Cloud went to argue. He stood there, arms crossed, waiting.

He smelled good, and Cloud, as annoyed as he was, was glad to see him. He was half-tempted to embrace Sephiroth, which he would normally not do in front of anyone else – neither of them were the type for public displays of affection – but it would be funny to get him all messy. For the ten minutes before that turned into a brawl, which would turn into something he certainly wasn’t doing in front of his…

…Vincent.

Cloud couldn’t quite manage to think of his friend as his father-in-law.

Cloud put a hand on Sephiroth’s shoulder and used it to balance while he got out of his boot, discarding his soaked wool sock with it. He shifted and made quick work of the other boot and equally wet sock, then tossed his goggles, jacket, and gloves on the bench by the door.

“I’m not stripping naked,” he told Sephiroth.

“Your pants are soaked,” Sephiroth pointed out.

They stared at each other. A standoff.

Vincent didn’t even bother to hide his snort of amusement.

Sephiroth reached out and caught hold of his wool pea coat, hanging next to the door on a hook. It was large enough that after he put it on, Cloud could undo his pants and step out of them without flashing Vincent.

“I _hate_ you.” Cloud shook the water out of his hair without warning, gratified when some of it splattered on Sephiroth.

Sephiroth pointed at the doorway leading to the living and beyond. “Go change. I’ll make you some tea.”

Cloud, predictably, muttered that he didn’t want tea (he did), and gave Vincent a half-wave as he headed into the house. The wool coat was heavy but warm, and there was a fire in the small living room. Cloud resisted stopping and warming up for a minute as he took the stairs to the bedroom.

The house only had one, but Vincent was their only frequent visitor and he rarely stayed the night – even though the house technically belonged to him. Cloud dropped his bag, which was made of a much more durable material than any of Cloud’s clothes, apparently, on the floor and went into the adjoining bath.

It was a simple house, one bedroom and one bath on the upper level, a kitchen, living area and half-bath with a laundry on the lower. There was a covered structure for Cloud to park Fenrir and a very small yard next to some overgrown fields. The house sat out by itself on the far end of town, which meant they didn’t have any neighbors. Which, given they tended to have some rather dramatic swordfights, was probably a good thing.

Cloud tossed Sephiroth’s coat on the bed, then stripped out of his briefs and padded into the bathroom. It had been renovated, thankfully, so he could take a shower instead of waiting for the tub to fill. Cloud stood under the spray and let the warm water chase away the last chill from the rain, along with the grime and mud that had somehow adhered to his skin.

When he was clean, he dressed in a pair of plain cotton black pants and a t-shirt, with a sweater that was a bit too big for him and a clean pair of socks. He dried his hair with a towel, grabbed Sephiroth’s coat and headed back downstairs.

The kitchen was quiet when he went to hang Sephiroth’s coat back on the rack by the door. Cloud’s boots and wet clothes were gone, probably in the laundry room. The entranceway floor was clean and bereft of mud. Cloud rolled his eyes, then went over to the table and sat down by the steaming cup of tea that was obviously for him.

The mug had a yellow chocobo on it and said Kweh! Marlene had given it to him because she thought “it looks like your hair.” It was one of the few things he’d brought with him from Seventh Heaven. It was one of the few things he even _owned_.  

Cloud would maybe never admit it out loud, but he sort of liked tea. Only because it was too cold for a Black Chocobo. He wrapped his hands around the mug, the too-long sleeves of the sweater draped over his hands.

“Thanks,” he said to Sephiroth, who nodded. Their eyes met, and Cloud felt a warm frisson of anticipation at the thought of saying a proper hello, later.

“Your trip went well?” Vincent asked, sounding a little amused, as if he’d caught the exchange. He was maybe the only person – living, that was – who wasn’t inclined toward incredulity, disgust or anger at the sight of them together.

Cloud had endured his fair share of lectures over the last six months. Sephiroth had endured his fair share of threats from the same people. So far, everyone was still alive. A win, as far as Cloud was concerned.

“Uh. Yeah. I dunno why anyone wants to live in Junon, though.” Cloud made a face and sipped the tea.  
“It’s a mess and no one seems to know the numbers on any of the buildings. I think they make them up based on the day.”

People were moving out of Old Midgar and Edge back into the smaller towns and cities, but it was a slow-going process. The countryside wasn’t overrun by monsters but they were still there, and a lot of the towns had been abandoned too long for people to be certain of the safety of the structures. Kalm was one of the few that had remained consistently populated, though the Deepground incident had caused its fair share of damage.

“How’s Yuffie?” Cloud asked Vincent.  

“Pregnant,” said Vincent.

Cloud almost choked on his tea. “Oh. Uh. Is that – um. Should I be happy for you, or…?” Cloud took another hurried sip to keep himself from having to say anything else.

Vincent’s severe expression eased into the slightest of smiles. “Yes. You should be. She’s happy, when she’s not blaming me for her morning sickness. I’m…well. Worried about her, which you can imagine how well that goes over. But…pleased. Yes.”

Cloud smiled. “Then I am, too.” He slid a sly glance over at Sephiroth. “Aw. You’re going to be a big brother.”

Sephiroth’s glare was fierce. “You’re not funny.”

Cloud refused to feel bad about that, because it was the truth. When Sephiroth had given Vincent the materials from the geneticist and repeated her findings, he’d made it perfectly clear that he neither wanted nor expected the knowledge that they shared DNA to create any sort of expectations or obligations.

Vincent had listened with his usual stoic expression, nodded, and left without a word. Cloud had honestly not been sure what to expect, but a few days later Vincent returned to their temporary lodgings with a set of keys to the house in Kalm.

“I’m not interested in expectations or obligations,” Vincent had said, bluntly, to Sephiroth. “But I would like some kind of a relationship with you, if you’re willing to try and have one. If nothing else, Cloud is my friend and I would like to see you as the person he does.”

Cloud wasn’t sure _that_ was a good idea, but he understood the sentiment. Regardless, Sephiroth had agreed and now Vincent came over sometimes for meals that were awkward at worst and quietly pleasant at best. Yuffie had yet to accompany Vincent, though Cloud wasn’t sure if she simply refused or if Vincent hadn’t wanted to bring her.

Sephiroth had admitted he didn’t necessarily think of Vincent as his father, but that it was probably for the best since his association with the word wasn’t necessarily a good one.

“Have you thought more about Rufus’s offer?” Vincent asked him, now. “Sephiroth said you were considering it.”

A month or so ago, Rufus had contacted Cloud about a new Shinra initiative, which intended to reach out to the many cities and towns and hopefully make them ready for habitation at some point in the future. The city _was_ crowded, and Cloud could understand the potential for problems if the entire population was in one place with Shinra once again making all the decisions.

The lack of a governmental system of checks and balances had caused one company to effectively rule the planet, based on a monopoly of resources. Cloud supposed it spoke well of Rufus that he wanted to make sure that didn’t happen again, though he wasn’t entirely sure he believed the gesture to be completely altruistic.

Rufus had asked Cloud if he and Sephiroth would be interested in going to Nibelheim and overseeing the rebuilding of the town – this time without the actors. Cloud knew the town’s history, and he and Sephiroth could take care of any lingering monster threat, which was still a concern in areas with mako reactors, inactive though they may be.

Sephiroth had taken an interest in engineering, going so far as to speak with Reeve Tuesti about energy sources for the outlying villages and towns that didn’t rely on mako, and yet didn’t disrupt the planet or strip its resources again. Rufus seemed to think that they’d do well working on a project together, and as much as Cloud liked to refuse Rufus on general principle, he had to admit it had merit.

The more towns and villages that came back to life meant the more places for him to go on deliveries. Cloud didn’t think anyone believed him when he said he liked his job, because it suited his wanderlust and he liked to be by himself. In the past six months, Sephiroth had gone with him a few times and he hadn’t minded the company, which Cloud thought was a good sign.

“I think we might do it,” Cloud said. “You’ve been back to Nibelheim haven’t you? Since after Meteorfall, I mean.”

Vincent glanced at Sephiroth, but if the town or the reference to his failed world-ending catastrophe bothered him, he didn’t let it show. Vincent nodded in answer. “Yes. But just the Shinra mansion. It was destroyed by Deepground, but from what I recall, the rest of the town was still there. Abandoned, but standing.”

Cloud thought about how weird it would be to go back there. He didn’t really think of it as his hometown anymore, because the Nibelheim that he grew up in was gone. The town that had been rebuilt on its ashes was a Shinra front, and he had his doubts the buildings were constructed well enough to withstand a few years of winters and no summer maintenance.

But he did understand Rufus’s reasoning for wanting independent cities with governmental structures in place, if only to keep the power from being consolidated like it had been with the Shinra of old. Besides, Cloud knew that at some point they were going to find some kind of permanent job for Sephiroth or he’d probably go crazy again simply out of boredom.

“Rufus said the Shinra mansion was mine by virtue of inheritance,” Sephiroth said. “It figures it would be nothing but a pile of rubble.”

“We could rebuild it and live there, if you wanted.” Cloud smiled at Vincent. “We can put a guest room for you in the basement. Coffin and all.”

Vincent tilted his head down and ducked into the high collar of his coat, half-hiding his obvious blush behind the fall of his hair. Cloud had seen Sephiroth do the same exact thing more than once. “Yes, well. Maybe just a regular bed. Yuffie’s claustrophobic.”

Cloud laughed quietly, and went back to his tea.

Vincent took his leave a few minutes later. Cloud followed him to the door. “Tell Yuffie congrats and stuff. Is she at Seventh Heaven?”

Vincent nodded. “I think she…might want to meet him soon. That Sephiroth is my…relative…means he’ll be related to our child, too.”

Cloud’s eyebrows raised. He would have thought that would be the exact opposite, and that Yuffie would be even more determined to keep the Demon of Wutai away from her child – relative or not.

“Family is important to her,” Vincent said. He made a face. “And being pregnant makes her emotional. Don’t tell her I said that, because it also makes her hit harder.”

Cloud, who was never exactly sure how his quiet, brooding friend ended up with the loud, rambunctious Yuffie – he’d assumed it happened at some point during the Deepground crisis – had no idea what to say to that. Vincent having anything remotely close to a sense of humor was like –

Well. It was like Sephiroth having one. Cloud shook his head. They really _were_ related.

Vincent reached out and pulled at the sweater Cloud was wearing. “I’ll tell Yuffie you wear Sephiroth’s clothes like she wears mine. Maybe it’ll make her less inclined to kill him.”

Cloud scowled and swatted his hand away. “I didn’t know you had other clothes. Tell her to buy you a new cloak that’s not full of holes.”

“Tell Sephiroth to buy you a sweater that fits. And a raincoat.” Vincent smiled and gave him a clap on the shoulder on his way out.

Cloud found Sephiroth in the living room, putting another log on the fire. He waited until Sephiroth moved away from the fire and then went to him, reaching up to grab his hair and tug it firmly. “Hey.”

Sephiroth didn’t say anything, just stared down at him with his usual intense expression. The air between them grew heavy, warm from something other than the fire in the hearth. “You want to go to Nibelheim.”

Cloud sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this right now – he’d rather do something else, his body had gotten used to regular sex and he’d been gone, all told, a week; a visit to Seventh Heaven to see Tifa, Marlene, Barret and Denzel, followed by a pick-up and then the delivery to Junon.

“I hate doing anything Rufus wants, you know that.”

“Yes.” Sephiroth studied him. The light from the fire reflected off his face and sparked in the depths of his eyes; that, and the severity of his expression, made Cloud fight back a flare of unease. “Same here, if you want to know the truth. But you want to go.”

Cloud thought about it. He did, and he didn’t – he knew nothing about the sort of engineering that would be required, and other than an outdated knowledge of his old hometown, he couldn’t imagine what exactly he’d contribute except manual labor. Not that it was a problem, he was fine with the idea of working with his hands.

_Then what’s the problem? Are you afraid to go there with Sephiroth? Afraid your relationship isn’t strong enough to handle it?_

“I’m not sure I won’t – get mad at you.” Cloud moved closer, his hand going from Sephiroth’s hair to his chest, palm resting above his heart. He looked up at him. “Things with us…they’re not bad right now. You know?”

Sephiroth’s mouth curved up in the slightest of smiles. “How romantic of you.” He reached out and rubbed his thumb over Cloud’s lower lip.

Cloud huffed and punched him in the shoulder, but the strangely affectionate gesture made his breath catch and his heartbeat race. “You know what I mean. I don’t know if it’s too soon or what.”

“Do you honestly think there’s a good time for us to go back to the town I went crazy and burned to the ground?” Sephiroth asked. He glanced away, toward the fire. “I am…slightly apprehensive about going, myself. But it has nothing to do with you and your reaction. I already assume that will be negative and I accept that.”

“I’m glad one of us does,” Cloud said wryly. Sephiroth, for all his melodrama, had a practical side that was just an inch short of tactless. If that.

“I’m concerned that there may be lingering effects of the trigger in my mind,” Sephiroth explained. “I know Jenova is no longer contained in the old reactor, Hojo is dead and I have made some…significant progress…in moving on from my past. It still makes me…concerned.”

Anyone else would think Sephiroth was explaining the reasons why he _didn’t_ want to go to Nibelheim. But Cloud knew him well enough to know that it was exactly the opposite, and he supposed his own contrary nature could understand that.

He gave a brief nod. “Okay. I think you probably need something to do, anyway.” Cloud reached up again and grabbed at Sephiroth’s hair, enough to give it a good hard tug. “In the meantime, I’m in the mood to do something, myself.”

Sephiroth kissed him, his hands grabbing Cloud by the shoulders. “And what’s that?”

“Mmm.” Cloud shoved his hands up beneath Sephiroth’s long-sleeved shirt, eager to feel skin beneath his hands. “Can’t decide if I want to fuck you, or if I want you to fuck me.”

“Come try,” Sephiroth purred against his mouth. “And we’ll see which one I allow.”

He was so infuriating. _Allow,_ indeed. Cloud bit him on the lip, hard, and then pounced.

Sephiroth ended up fucking him against the wall, with Cloud’s legs wrapped tight around his waist and both hands fisting Sephiroth’s hair. If this counted as a loss, then maybe losing wasn't as bad as Cloud always thought. 

This time, at least. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was going to make the epilogue feature Seph/Cloud actually going to Nibelheim to start the rehab process, but it was basically a lot of backstory and then some drama, and i figured it would be better to do that in an actual story and let the epilogue be a little less heavy, considering it's...an epilogue. I'll definitely be writing it, though! 
> 
> Also I wanted there to be some Vincent and Seph trying to just...be around each other, as I have a few stories planned with them bonding. Kind of. >> But I wanted to show what happens with that plot thread. 
> 
> I'm happy to take prompts for one-shots in this 'verse [on my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/dustofwarfare-blog) or here, if you like! I love writing one-shots :D


End file.
